Buhrama wasn't aiming to hit him with the lightning.
It was a smokescreen, a flickering storm meant to blind and mislead.
The real attack was hidden within it, buried beneath the flashing arcs of energy.
Milo adjusted in an instant, his mind working faster than his body.
Blocking won't work. Buhrama was too fast, too unpredictable.
If he braced for impact, he'd be overwhelmed.
So he didn't block. Instead he raised his sword, not to stop the strike, but to redirect it.
His stance shifted, weight balanced, his blade angled just right.
The moment Buhrama closed the distance, Milo would use his own momentum against him, letting the energy slide past instead of meeting it head-on.
Buhrama's blade swept in low, a fast, cutting strike aimed at Milo's side.
The motion was sharp, precise and almost effortless.
But Milo was ready.
At the last possible moment, he shifted, his sword meeting Buhrama's with a sharp clang.
