Dusk still tinged the sky when Albert Vorah and Scathach faced each other in the mansion's courtyard, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and charred wood. The rubble of broken columns and shattered windows surrounded them, silent witnesses to a battle that was already beginning to feel... unusual.
Albert clenched his fists, his muscles tensing, and lunged toward Scathach with a sharp blow. She dodged just as quickly, but there was no impact. His blade sliced through empty air, a sigh of wind between them. Scathach responded with a punch that pierced the air to Albert's shoulder—he recoiled, still unharmed.
Their movements accelerated, a frenetic dance of attacks and dodges, strikes and counterstrikes, all with the intensity of a storm, but neither could even touch the other's skin. It was as if an invisible barrier separated them, a force field that nullified all effort.
