The second wave of spells crashed toward Rodrick like a storm.
Roaring fireballs the size of boulders. Sharp spears of ice. And arcs of crackling lightning tearing through the air.
The battlefield lit up with color and chaos.
But the Red Commander didn't move back. He didn't flinch.
Instead. He roared.
With one powerful swing. Rodrick slashed his flaming sword through a fireball.
The spell split in half, exploding behind him in a shower of heat and smoke.
The ground shook. But he was already turning. His blade spinning through the air like a blur.
A streak of lightning shot toward him. Fast and deadly. But he tilted his shoulder and knocked it aside.
The lightning veered off-course and struck two of his own soldiers.
They screamed.
Their bodies burned instantly, charred black in seconds.
Rodrick didn't look at them.
He didn't care.
His heavy cloak flapped behind him, scorched and tattered.
