Noah's declaration was a quiet thunderclap in the dead air, a promise of violence that made the very fabric of Collapse hold its breath!
He was coming!
Tatiana watched him, her obsidian-gold eye a swirling vortex of analytical fury. She saw the six spectral manifestations of his power, the arrogant calm on his face, and she prepared. The obsidian flames of her Principle, the Waking Dream, danced around her, a corona of pure, absolute power.
Then, he began!
It was not a charge, not a grand, sweeping attack. It was a storm. A relentless, unending, and utterly tyrannical artillery barrage of pure, conceptual destruction.
"Fireball."
The word was a whisper, a soft, almost gentle, murmur.
And from the roiling sea of his Mana, a single, perfect sphere of crimson-blue fire bloomed into existence.
It was a thing of terrible, beautiful power, a miniature sun fold born for the sole purpose of annihilation. It streaked across the void, and Tatiana met it!
BOOM!
