Juno's figure blurred no single step predictable, no motion lingering long enough for Braggen's sharpened senses to fully anchor on. Predator's Embrace rippled like a living thing, the Fifth Gate's raw surge warping it into something faster, hungrier, and far more dangerous. His strikes came from impossible angles one grazing Braggen's ribs before vanishing, another slashing air a hair's breadth from his throat.
Braggen's jaw tightened. His Vein Sense picked up each spark of intent, but by the time he committed to a counter, Juno's rhythm shifted again. It was like trying to grab smoke while it slashed at you with knives.
A whip-like feint cracked toward Braggen's face, but instead of pulling back, he stepped in thorns on his forearm flashing green as he batted the strike aside and countered with a crushing hook. Juno caught it with a crossed guard, but the sheer force ripped him from his stance, boots skidding deep grooves into the ground.
