The clang of metal rang through the ruined Ironclad Industrial Hall as Bjorn's axes clashed against Severian's golden sword. Sparks flew from each impact, illuminating the battlefield in fleeting flashes. Bjorn gritted his teeth, meeting each strike with sheer brute force. Severian's movements were fluid, precise—like a seasoned duelist, while Bjorn fought like a relentless berserker, pushing forward with unyielding ferocity.
On the other side of the battlefield, Damius struggled to close the distance against Malphas, who kept his advantage with long-range ethereal maw projectiles. The dark, spectral jaws materialized in midair and snapped violently, forcing Damius to weave and dodge. One nearly bit into his shoulder, missing by an inch, but the force still sent him staggering backward.
"Tch," Damius clicked his tongue, frustration growing. "You hiding behind those tricks all day, or are you gonna fight me like a man?"
