His grip loosens on his sword. A bitter realization settles in his chest.
"Can I even reach that level…?" he mutters under his breath.
Elaine glances at him, but she has no answer. No one does.
Then—
The smoke shifts.
A gust of wind rushes through the battlefield, parting the thick haze of destruction.
And there, standing at the center of the devastation, is Varkas.
He's alive.
His massive frame is hunched forward, his claws dug into the scorched ground to keep himself upright. His fur, once pristine, is now singed and tattered. Blood drips from countless wounds, staining the cracked earth beneath him. His breathing is labored, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged motions.
But his golden eyes burn brighter than ever.
"That…" Varkas exhales, then grins, sharp and wild. "That almost got me."
