Back in Tynoon, the clash of war blazed just as fiercely as in Icua and the rest of Amthar.
Mystica and Barbara the Barbarian stood only a few paces apart, tension thick between them like a drawn bowstring.
Then the air ripped open.
Barbara launched forward with a sudden jolt—no warning, no buildup. Just raw speed and fury. The ground beneath her exploded into a crater from the pressure of her leap, dust spiraling upward in her wake like a cyclone of crushed stone and wind.
Mystica barely had a second to react. Her violet eyes widened as the axe blurred toward her chest—a mass of jagged metal arcing through the air like a lightning-charged guillotine.
Her instincts surged. With a twist of her wrists, a barrier of reinforced light snapped into existence before her, layered with threads of hardened myst. The axe struck the shield in a brilliant detonation—thunder echoed outward in a concussive wave, rippling through the air like a bomb had gone off.
