Zendrell walked forward with slow, steady steps, each one carrying weight that made the very ground beneath him ripple.
Cracks began to spread lightly under his boots, the pressure of his crimson eidra making the earth tremble as if the land itself feared what was coming.
The air grew heavier with each movement, and the crimson light swirling around his massive blade pulsed stronger with every step.
"Come at me, weaklings," Zendrell said, his voice serious now, deeper, full of intensity.
But even with the weight of his tone, the smirk never left his face.
It clung there, sharp and confident, like someone who knew the outcome before the battle even began.
"Let's finish this… once and for all."
"That's my line!" Jirael shouted from the other side of the arena, her voice fierce as she raised her staff and pointed it straight at Zendrell.
This time, her staff didn't just hum—it roared.
The power coming from it was different, deeper, almost spiritual.
