Jon Connington watched Young Griff charge toward Aegon, toward the pale golden beast.
He wanted to stop him, but his body seemed nailed to the spot.
There was no time, and no way to stop him.
Twenty years of lies, twenty years of devotion, solidified into heavy chains at that moment, binding every limb.
He watched the blue-haired boy, that nameless child, hurl himself like a moth into flames destined to consume him.
Aegon stood there, his silver hair stirring gently in the courtyard breeze, his purple eyes perfectly calm.
He had promised Jon he would not kill Young Griff, but if the boy openly showed murderous intent or even acted on it, that was another matter.
He did not even look at the charging boy. He merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze settling on King Ghidorah's pale golden wing membranes.
King Ghidorah did not even open his mouths to unleash his breath.
A fine thread of golden electricity suddenly appeared between his wing membranes, flickering, gathering.
Then a finger-thick bolt of golden lightning, so brilliant it was almost blinding, shot out soundlessly like a spear of judgment cast down by a god.
Fast.
Faster than the eye could follow, faster than a thought could turn.
"Hiss-"
There was no deafening explosion, only a sharper, teeth-grating sound of annihilation, mingled with the dull noise of flesh being instantly carbonized and pierced.
Thunder pierced through.
It pierced straight through the center of Young Griff's chest with perfect precision.
Without losing momentum, it struck the stone paving behind him.
"Boom!"
A dull explosion rang out.
The paving shattered, sending stone fragments flying. A pit more than a foot deep appeared, its edges blackened and molten. Thin smoke curled from its depths, carrying an acrid, scorched smell.
Young Griff abruptly froze mid-charge.