The dust settled over the ravaged battlefield, the air thick with the acrid scent of scorched earth and sea salt. Jon stood at the forefront, his divine web spear still humming with residual energy, its runes glowing faintly under the fading rainbow moon.
The weapon felt different this time—more controlled, its power tempered by the dream essence he'd infused into it. Unlike the chaotic releases of past battles, this attack had been precise, a testament to his growing mastery. Yet, his body screamed in protest, each step a battle against the exhaustion threatening to drag him under.
Cynthia stood resolute beside him, the only one who hadn't fled when the spear ignited. She'd heard tales of Jon's devastating attacks, but witnessing it firsthand left her breathless. Her eyes flicked to him, a mix of awe and concern as he tapped his rod against the ground, the rhythmic sound a stark contrast to the chaos moments before.
