Fwish! Slash!
Alex swung his [Scythe of Hatred] in a wide arc toward Nocteron.
The blade moved with such force that the air around it seemed to tear apart, but Nocteron wasn't slow to respond.
His [Underworld Sword] met the strike in time, the edge of his blackened weapon igniting with a green, ghostly fire as steel met steel.
Sparks flew.
The clash echoed through the battlefield, but Alex didn't falter.
He didn't pause, and the moment the strike was blocked, he spun the scythe again and launched another barrage of attacks, his arms a blur as he pressed forward.
Again and again, he swung, unrelenting and merciless.
No hesitation, no distraction, just pure focus, razor-sharp and locked entirely on the opponent before him.
He was going to win this.
Nocteron had to fall, that was all there was to it.
Each movement he made came from instinct and fury, burned into him by everything he had suffered and everything he still stood for.
