Northern materialized behind Rughsbourgh, driving through his space a razor-sharp, lightning-fast punch. The space naturally halted his hand, but the barrier bent. Northern's sword was already slicing down from another angle.
Rughsbourgh's expression darkened as he realized he had wasted precious time on a decoy. He tried to move, but it was too late.
The sword plunged toward his neck—but it never struck. Northern was hurling a punch straight toward his side, using it as a feint while concealing his sword hand... however, he stopped mid-motion and dissolved into fragments of light.
Rughsbourgh's frown deepened.
The fact that Northern was adapting to his Rewind remained as intensely baffling as ever.
Consciousness, in theory, could not perceive the flow of time. Time was a great river, ever surging forward, and the mind was but a single drop carried along its current. A drop wasn't meant to detect the river's movement—it was simply part of the flow.
