The trio stood firmly, tension high, weapons in hand, eyes locked on Caster. This was their chance—a simple way to get the relic. Their opponent stood still, unmoving, the cross dangling from the bangle on his arm catching the light, a detail that stood out against his attire.
They leaned close, whispering in each other's ears—strategies, plans, desperate ideas on how to bring him down. But it was easier said than done. The man was a mystery, and the only thing clear about him was this: he was strong enough to oversee Midgard itself. Strong enough to be respected by the very creators of Midworld.
"Let's see what your made of,"Jamie thought. If he wanted to become the strongest, he needed to witness the strongest in action.
"Wait too long," Caster mocked, his voice sharp, "and you'll lose your edge."
"That crap won't work on us," Bray shot back, more to convince himself than anyone else.
"What crap?"
"Your mind games!" Bray continued.
