The clash escalates beyond reason.
Kore's spear thrusts again and again, faster than the eye can follow—her body a puppet of divine instinct, moving with no hesitation, no thought, only the command to destroy. Each blow carves rifts in the air, her strikes ripping open seams of pure mana. Her cracked flesh glows faintly, the white light bleeding from inside her like a star burning through paper.
Mhazul meets her with savage joy, every swing of his axes fueled by his monstrous vitality. Sparks and molten shards spray as his weapons grind against her spear, their collision birthing endless shockwaves. His laughter echoes over the battlefield even as blood runs down his arms, even as bone shows through torn flesh.
"Hahaha! This is it! Break yourself on me!"
Kore doesn't respond. Her jaw is slack, her breathing ragged, eyes glowing void-white. Her voice is gone—only the storm inside her speaks.
