Roots surged like tidal waves, their weight bending the void itself. Illusions fractured into storms of glass and shadow, cutting in every direction.
Each strike landed heavier than the last, each counter pushed sharper. The void screamed, stretched, and cracked.
Neither relented. Neither yielded.
The battlefield bent under them, trembling as if it might tear apart. Green light burned against crimson shadows, branches tore through mirrored skies, and shards of broken reflection sliced into roots only to be swallowed by new growth.
And still, faint smiles curved both their lips. Not warm, not cruel—recognition, respect, the kind shared only by two storms that had met before and knew they would meet again.
The void quivered. The rivers bowed. The roots tightened. The illusions waited for the next command.
The battle had only just begun.
Lilith moved first. Her hand rose in a small arc, fingers loose, and the air around her thickened as if packed with wet silk.
