The storm above the battlefield no longer looked natural. It pulsed like a living thing, veins of gold and crimson flashing through the clouds. Every time Cain or Nebula struck, lightning rippled in sympathy, drawn to the raw magic tearing the air apart.
The world had become a crucible.
Cain's boots dug into the scorched ground, his entire body trembling with strain. Steam hissed from his armor as the molten soil cooled against it. His heartbeat roared in his ears, loud enough to drown out the whistling of Nebula's hovering blades.
Across from him, Nebula floated higher, arms extended. The blades that circled him expanded outward, merging into a massive ring that spanned the width of the battlefield. Each one glowed with pulsing light, forming intricate sigils that spun faster and faster until the entire ring resembled a luminous halo.
Cain's jaw clenched. He'd seen that before—his own creation, twisted into something perverse.
