Arkhadon's heart sank.
This wasn't because his attack had weakened.
It was—
Because the battlefield itself had become more stable than before.
The space here had changed.
And in that moment—
A figure slowly descended from high above.
The air parted around him on its own.
Even the atmosphere seemed to instinctively avoid him.
A violent, tightly compressed force field spread outward, blanketing the entire area.
"Arkhadon."
The voice came from above—low, cold, and cutting.
"Didn't think you'd have the guts to come back."
The figure raised his head.
His gaze was sharp enough to slice steel.
"This time—"
"You won't be saved by luck."
Ethan.
He looked like he'd stepped out of the eye of a storm, the glowing lines of his Powered Combat Armor flowing steadily across his frame.
The pressure he radiated silenced the battlefield for half a beat.
Then—
He raised his hand.
Energy compressed and restructured in his palm at high speed.
A glowing energy sword took shape.
