A deafening shockwave tore through the wastelands as Alister and Galisk clashed mid-air. The sheer force of their impact sent ripples across the battlefield, splitting the cracked earth beneath them.
The sky trembled, dark clouds spiraling like a vortex as the air burned with raw energy.
Galisk grinned as he twisted his wrist, commanding the golden swords floating around him. The weapons blurred through the air, streaks of radiant light cutting through the battlefield like divine judgment. Each blade carried the weight of condensed magic, capable of slicing through steel like paper.
Alister met them head-on.
His golden-black scales glowed as his body moved with inhuman precision. A single sword came down toward him—he caught it with his bare hands, the blade screeching against his hardened scales.
Without pausing, he twisted, using the sword's own momentum to fling it aside, sending it hurtling into another oncoming weapon, shattering both into radiant fragments.
