Max's entire body was a living tempest, crimson lightning roaring off him in wild arcs, each crackle like the wrathful roar of a storm god. The sheer power radiating from him made the very air shudder, warping from the intensity.
'Extreme Speed and Heaven's Wraith… this is what true fusion feels like,' he thought, eyes locked on the space wraith.
The creature's twisted, shifting form seemed to sense the change in him; its shape rippled, edges distorting like shattered glass in water, and then—without warning—it vanished.
A soundless tear split reality and the wraith emerged in front of him, its claw-like arm slicing through the air with a streak of blinding spatial collapse.
Max's Severing Flow Sword Art met it head-on, his blade cutting not at the flesh, but at the intent, flow, and causality of the strike itself. A burst of distorted air and red lightning tore the skies apart, and the two were thrown apart before clashing again in the same breath.
