Leon braces against shattered marble, blood coating his teeth like paint. His legs shake—not from fear but from nerve damage, fire having eaten through muscle and sinew faster than his enhanced healing can repair. The training field stretches around them as a monument to destruction: stone melted to glass, gardens reduced to ash, air itself warping with heat that makes breathing feel like swallowing blades.
Tobias moves through the devastation like its architect. Flames weave across his shoulders in perfect spirals, each step leaving molten footprints that glow white hot against blackened stone. His posture speaks of absolute control, a predator who hasn't even begun to exert himself.
Leon raises one trembling arm. His Elite Mage and Assassin zombies materialize on either flank, their forms wavering like mirages in the superheated air. The undead position themselves with tactical precision despite the heat distortion warping their spectral frames.