The members of the Sanatan Flame Sect stood close together, shoulder to shoulder, forming a disciplined defensive formation. Their faces were tense, eyes fixed forward. The air around them shimmered faintly, a reflection of the intense energy radiating from their cores.
The sky above hung heavy with heat and silence—until the earth itself began to tremble.
Dust lifted in faint waves. Cracks slithered across the parched ground like serpents awakening from slumber.
Shaurya stepped forward, calm yet commanding. His long crimson robes swayed lightly in the growing wind. He lifted his index finger, golden energy swirling and condensing at its tip, forming a gleaming orb of concentrated spiritual power.
With a confident smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he spoke—his voice cutting through the tension like steel through silence.
"Spiritual Shoot."
A golden spiritual bullet burst forth from his fingertip, slicing through the air with a blinding streak.
