Khaerion's body tore through the void and smashed into the surface of a blazing star before he finally came to a halt. The celestial inferno beneath him rippled like a living sea in response to the force of his impact. He coughed up a spray of golden blood, each droplet evaporating instantly in the star's heat.
His angelic body, normally pristine and untouchable, was battered beyond recognition. His once-perfect skin was torn with countless thin, razor-sharp cuts, each one a signature carved by the artistry and precision of a master swordsman. These wounds were not random; they were a meticulous tapestry documenting a duel between two beings who had ascended past the realm of comprehension.
