The ground cracked beneath Kyle's boots as the new batch surged toward him.
Dozens of elite warriors, each brimming with divine mana and coordinated discipline, encircled him like a tightening noose.
Spears glinted, swords hummed with blessed enchantments, and shields thrummed with layered barriers. Unlike the last batch, they didn't charge recklessly.
They moved with deadly precision—trained killers acting as one mind.
Kyle stood in the center of it all, unmoving.
From his distant perch behind the golden barrier, the God of War leaned back on his throne with a lazy, satisfied grin.
"How long can you hold on, Kyle Armstrong? Every breath you waste here is one less you'll have when the real battle begins."
Kyle's eyes narrowed.
He understood now—this was not about overwhelming him with power. No, the god of war was trying to drain him.
