At some point, Beginning now stood at forty meters tall.
Opposite him hovered the bronze-skinned Rank Four Amazari. Rings of compressed air rotated around him in slow, controlled orbits, each one dense enough to carve stone apart with a thought. His eyes were calm, calculating, but the tension in his posture betrayed him.
Beginning roared.
But the Amazari moved first.
His hand snapped forward, and the air screamed.
A compressed lance of wind slammed into Beginning's chest, drilling straight through muscle and bone in an instant. The impact exploded out the titan's back in a plume of blood and shattered flesh, leaving a hollow crater where his heart should have been.
For a fraction of a second, the battlefield went silent.
Then Beginning took another step.
The wound closed as he moved.
Muscle surged inward. Bone and flesh knit together with a wet, grinding sound.
The Amazari's eyes narrowed.
He saw Beginning swing at him.
There was no technique. No finesse.
