Luciel's smirk lingered, his silver eyes gleaming with something between excitement and intrigue. A worthy challenge.
The storm around him raged, swirling like a living force, the winds screaming as Zephyros crackled with unrestrained lightning. The sheer density of his power twisted the air, turning the sky into a canvas of writhing chaos.
Ethan, however, was unshaken.
His Warhammer pulsed in his hands, still shifting, still alive with the combined might of his affinities. He could feel Angitia's mind brushing against his own, guiding him, whispering the movement of the battlefield before it happened.
He could feel Galeno's stability, an immovable weight that anchored him to the earth, making him a fortress.
Maverick's alchemy burned through his veins, transmutation circles weaving along his arms, ever-adapting, ever-reforging his weapon on a molecular level.
Stygian's deathflames licked at his skin, not consuming—but fueling.
And Onyx.
Onyx was not guiding. Not stabilizing.
