The halls of Korthan reverberated like a giant's chest being hammered repeatedly. The vibrations from the first impact still rippled through the marble, causing tiny cracks to glow like lava veins. Fire and dust danced in chaotic yet orderly patterns, a dance that never lost its rhythm.
In the center, two figures locked gazes. Korthan, a form of war that encompasses thousands of battles; and Sylvia, the center of emptiness that turns into the abyss of life. Between them, the air felt like a layer of hot, dense iron, attacking, giving no respite.
"You swallowed my attack, then turned it into your own power," Korthan joked, his voice reverberating like a steel hammer. His eyes blazed, but it wasn't just anger: it was the admiration of a fighter who had found a worthy opponent.
