Seeing Max and Alice engrossed in their deadly dance, their blades and flames weaving through the monstrous tide like threads of lethal light, Margo's eyes flickered with dark resolve, the bitterness in his chest crystallizing into something sharp and cold. He clenched his iron sword tighter, feeling the weight of his hatred for Max dragging at his every breath.
Slowly, he began to maneuver himself away from his team, his movements measured and deliberate, yet cloaked beneath the chaotic rhythm of battle. Each step backward or sideways was masked by a slash of his sword, a pivot to deflect a Null's claw, or a sudden dash to avoid snapping jaws.
He fought with just enough vigor that no one watching could accuse him of cowardice or of deliberately pulling away. To any observer, it would appear as though he was being forced to retreat under the relentless press of monstrous bodies, driven apart from his comrades by sheer battlefield chaos.
