Every collision between Lan and Karahad birthed a rift in the ruined city, sending shockwaves that turned stone into dust, that bent shattered towers into spirals of wreckage.
Sparks of crimson and black exploded in bursts, as if lightning and shadow had found war inside the veins of the world.
Lan's arms burned, his chest heaved, but he did not retreat. Devil's Lie pulsed in his hands like a living thing, its hungry edge humming with every taste of Karahad's disdain.
The cloak of shadows that had once seemed untouchable now shivered where Lan's Sword Intent cut into it, each swing wide enough to cleave through marble and air alike.
Yet Karahad did not falter. His grin, once casual, had sharpened into something focused, a predator's gleam. The black flood of shadows that followed his steps writhed like serpents, forming walls, spears, and jagged maws.
Still—Lan met them head-on, his Severance Touch unraveling every construct that dared to close around him.
