The battlefield trembled with every strike, the air thick with smoke and the smell of scorched earth. Flames coiled and twisted around Liam's form as he clashed with the illusion, the two moving in a blur of fire and shadow. Every swing of a blade, every snap of a dagger, sent shockwaves rippling across the terrain, carving deep scars into the blackened ground.
Sparks rained from the collisions, each one a brief flare of light in the oppressive haze, illuminating the intensity etched into their every movement. Liam's muscles burned, sweat mingling with soot and blood, yet his motions flowed with a precision that seemed beyond conscious thought. His body moved with the logic of instinct, a rhythm of pure survival, while his mind watched in quiet awe.
Amidst the chaos, Liam's thoughts were sharp, slicing through the fog of battle as he observed and questioned—not his movements, for they required no thought, but the balance of power itself.
