Ashryn straightened, his grin curling darker, more sinister.
"Huh?"
Silence fell over the battlefield. Even the wind seemed to pause.
The real domination had only just begun.
Orimo lunged forward, shadows forming around him, but Ashryn moved like liquid—slipping past every punch with terrifying ease.
"It's over now," Ashryn growled.
In an instant, his hand shot out, gripping Orimo's face with a vice-like coldness.
"Desert Kiss," he whispered, his voice low, lethal.
Before Orimo could react, his body began to betray him. His skin paled, veins protruding like cracked rivers, blood oozing from his lips. Every muscle stiffened; water drained from his body as if some invisible furnace consumed him.
Orimo's eyes widened in horror. He tried to move, to speak, but his limbs refused. Every breath was a struggle. He was frozen, desiccated, helpless.
Ashryn threw him to the side like a ragdoll, his dust-gray coat fluttering behind him. Thread-like marks ran across his skin, his presence radiating a deathly aura.
"You will die a slow, painful death, pathetic loser," Ashryn said coldly. "Five minutes… that's all it takes."
Orimo's chest heaved, brain spinning. Blood dribbled from his mouth, warm and metallic, mixing with the dust coating his cracked skin. His mind screamed, yet no commands reached his body. Panic, fear, and helplessness surged—pure terror reflected in his wide, horrified eyes.
The battlefield, once alive with energy, now felt suffocating—silent but for the heavy thrum of impending doom.