Not my father's son


Wolff sees only the Zero and the man in front of him. Ray, who sent Anna to her death, his Zoid bristling and determined in the face of overwhelming power. The Energy Liger rends its Phoenix coat, strips it bare. Those bright, mocking eyes will dim by his claws. He leaps—

too soft, too naive, in the end

—the Falcon materializes, and their fight ends in a flash.

What would his father say?

Wolff grits his teeth, steels nerves Prozen feared unsuitable to rule, and the Liger rises, a ghost on borrowed time. This city, these people, will not burn.


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