Scene 1 – Eye of the Tempest
The storm had reached a fever pitch. Lightning streaked across the sky in blinding sheets. The wind tore at everything in its path, carrying the scent of ozone, scorched stone, and something far older—hunger.
Jemil and the swordmaster stood at the heart of it, their blades raised, bodies battered, eyes locked on the Herald.
No words were spoken. There was no need. Every motion, every stance, every pulse of energy radiating between them spoke volumes. They were a single unit—two minds, two wills—trying to match the fury of a predator born from the storm itself.
The Herald crouched low, muscles coiling, claws digging into the fractured battlefield. Its eyes burned like molten metal, and in a voice that rolled across the storm, it spoke:
Enough hesitation. No more testing. Now… you are prey.
Then it lunged.
Faster than thought. Faster than breath. The ground shattered beneath its weight, a shockwave sending them both skidding across the battlefield.
