Aerchon did not slow as more debris poured from the ruptured sky. He moved sharply in the air, cloak snapping violently as another wave of corrupted fragments descended around him.
His sword traced clean arcs through the chaos, each swing was precise and strong. Where the blade passed the ruin ceased to exist. Corrupted matter destroyed. Temporal residue snapped back into place, and the air healed behind him in ripples of silver light.
A cluster of jagged shards fell together at him while spinning wildly as warped gravity dragged them downward.
Aerchon accelerated. He crossed their path in a blink of an eye, his sword flashing in rapid succession. The shards dissolved one after another before they could spread their corruption further.
But the sky kept bleeding.
More fragments tore free, larger this time, denser, and layered with lingering corruption that were able to bend their trajectories unpredictably.
