The air thickened with intent. The pale blue veins inside the Core flared like a heart under strain, and something in the atmosphere shifted from tension to execution.
The two humanoid turtle Aegishell Titans did not lumber forward as their size suggested they should. They blurred.
Not a charge. Not a step. A displacement.
Bruce's perception snapped into razor focus. His pupils constricted until the world narrowed into clean lines and measured trajectories. Frost particles hung suspended in the air like glittering stars. He saw the hammer rise. He saw the staff pivot. He saw the compression forming around them.
Too slow. The first warhammer didn't swing. It arrived.
The impact detonated against his abdomen with a thunderclap that folded the air inward, compressing space in a violent inward implosion before releasing it in a shockwave that rippled across the clearing. The frost beneath his boots liquefied for a fraction of a second under the pressure alone.
