The dust settled slowly around Lucian's boots. Rubble floated mid-air, caught in a brief gravity distortion before falling with soft, dull clinks. His coat fluttered as he stepped forward. Ash stood ten meters away, his eyes locked on Lucian, chest rising and falling slow and steady.
For a second, the whole arena felt quieter than it should've been.
Ash moved first.
His form blurred—light-speed feints stacked into each other. His right hand formed a flat strike lined with temporal threads, aiming straight for Lucian's core. At the same time, a ripple spread underfoot. A null pulse meant to destabilize Lucian's footing and memory for just 0.3 seconds.
Lucian shifted slightly.
Ash's strike passed through his afterimage.
Then the wind bent.
Lucian was behind him.
Ash spun—fast—but Lucian had already pressed a finger against his back.
"Too slow."
