The arena pulsed with unnatural life.
What had once been pristine stone was now blanketed by a writhing jungle of thorned vines, blooming nightmares, and invisible traps.
From above, it looked less like a battlefield and more like a living organism—one with a pulse, a breath, and a singular will.
A will that belonged to Vess of Tranagia.
She stood at the heart of the chaos, her feet rooted into the ground as thick cords of vine and moss coiled around her like obedient serpents.
Her arms were raised—half in command, half in communion—as if she were less fighter, more priestess.
Her long green hair flowed like leaves in the wind, eyes glowing with the eerie fluorescence of photosynthetic fury.
Across from her, Kira of the Anima lay sprawled, battered and gasping.
Her toned frame trembled as she struggled to rise, bruises forming fast across her ribs and shoulder. Her once-bright aura flickered like a dying ember.
The battle had been brutal for her at least.
