The Tier 5 lunged, its spines fanning outward in a deadly halo.
Every movement it made seemed to twist the world itself—distance stretched and collapsed without warning, angles bent in impossible ways.
The battlefield no longer obeyed normal rules.
Aleron didn't retreat. He launched forward as well, claws and molten armor blazing in the distorted light.
The moment his fist swung, the space between them compressed—what should have been five meters of distance became half a meter in the blink of an eye.
His knuckles slammed into the abomination's plated chest with bone-cracking force.
The armor buckled inward, molten cracks running across its surface.
But before he could follow through, the air around his arm froze again.
Localized stasis—just like the wound earlier.
The abomination moved to take his head while his arm was locked.
No.
