Arjuna, however, didn't flinch as Rael's soul skill took shape. Instead, he conjured another arrow, holding it at the ready. But he didn't release it. Arjuna had his own code of honor—an unwavering belief that no attack should be made until the enemy had fully prepared. In a battle like this, it was unthinkable to strike without cause, not in a friendly tournament.
Rael's hand still held the scythe high above his head, summoning his soul skill into being. An artificial dark cloud loomed over him, swirling ominously as the black rain began to fall, each drop dark as ink. It hissed as it hit the platform, leaving behind a faint trace of smoke.
Rael kept walking forward, the dark rain intensifying as it fell faster. The platform beneath his feet continued to disintegrate. The scent of molten stone filled the air as the battle platform slowly turned into a muddy one. His pace was slow but purposeful, his will pressing forward with every step, dragging the ominous storm with him.
