The chamber had become a furnace of clashing wills.
Every strike between Loren Vance and Erebus resounded like thunder. Steel sparked against claw, blade rang against fang, and the ground beneath them cracked and trembled under the unrelenting pressure of their duel. What had begun as a hopeless fight for Loren had become something else entirely—a contest where, impossibly, he stood as an equal.
The squad watched from the shadows, breath caught in their throats, as Loren pressed forward again, his aura spiraling violently outward. His body was fraying, his movements jagged and desperate, but the sheer will emanating from him was undeniable.
His sword whistled through the air, glowing faintly with the overcharged mana coursing through his veins. He slashed across Erebus's flank, a strike so fierce it split fur and muscle, spraying blackened blood onto the cracked stones.
