The moment the Saintess's miracle exploded across the battlefield, Hiro felt his breath catch—as if the world itself had been holding its lungs hostage until that very second.
He had been fighting for what felt like an eternity, back-to-back with Mia, swords clashing against Aaron's monstrous strength, the devil's every blow rattling Hiro's bones. Sweat dripped into his eyes. His vision blurred. His ribs were cracked from an earlier hit he barely survived. Blood, metallic and warm, trickled from the corner of his lips with every exhale.
And Aaron—
Aaron was a nightmare given flesh.
Every punch carried the weight of a collapsing mountain. Every step forced the earth to groan and splinter. Every breath of his abyssal aura made the air harder to breathe, like smoke filling lungs that weren't meant to endure hell.
Hiro had been fighting on instinct alone, every muscle fiber screaming, every thought drowned beneath the suffocating despair the devil radiated.
