In the stands, the tension was mounting.The dragons, initially confident of an easy victory for their champions, began to stir uneasily.Something had shifted in the fight's dynamic an unexpected resistance, a determination that defied their predictions.
Facing this pack of supernatural predators, the old man took a step forward.Without a word.Without hesitation.Without the slightest tremor.
His gaunt silhouette detached from the group like a blade slowly unsheathing itself deliberate, inevitable, destined for blood.
Mordred and Kael stayed back, watching with a mix of fascination and disbelief as the spectacle unfolded before them.The old man, whose bare feet barely seemed to graze the crystallized sand of the arena, advanced towards the Vhulks with the serenity of a pilgrim approaching his sanctuary.
The creatures, momentarily thrown off by this voluntary approach, hesitated their collective consciousness processing this behavioral anomaly.
Then, as one, they attacked.
