"Crazy bastard," Number 17 muttered under his breath, a shiver of unease creeping into his voice despite his efforts to suppress it. "That's some insane firepower you've got there."
"Your turn," Greg stated simply, pivoting calmly to face him, his golden eyes locking on with predatory focus.
Gripping Heaven Defier firmly in his hands, Greg swung the sword in a powerful arc, unleashing a razor-sharp ray of sword energy that sliced through the air toward Number 17.
Number 17, relying on his agile, nimble feet, attempted to dodge the incoming strike, twisting his body in a desperate evasion maneuver.
But like Number 18 before him, he quickly discovered the utter futility of his efforts, the energy adjusting its path as if guided by fate itself.
The attack struck his chest cleanly, carving a deep, searing wound that drew a spray of dark blood, the pain lancing through him like fire.
