The battle between Lieutenant Dante and Northern raged on, a clash of titanic force like two serpents locked in mortal combat. They tore across the ruined landscape, their movements weaving intricate, devastating patterns, leaving only wreckage in their wake.
The ground, already flattened, sank even deeper beneath their fury. Craters pockmarked the terrain, turning it into a jagged wasteland, yet neither fighter faltered. The uneven earth should have disrupted their rhythm, but they moved as if it were nothing—fluid, unstoppable.
Northern's spatial awareness wasn't a talent. It was an extension of his very being, woven into his five senses to form a sixth. Now, with his body further evolved, he wielded it with growing mastery, each strike and dodge sharpening his control.
