Gabriel stood in his calm stance, his twin blades held loosely at his sides. He did not look tired, and his eyes remained perfectly cold behind his mask.
Across from him, Mo Shiyun stood perfectly still. But under her bone mask, her breathing was starting to sound rough and heavy.
Every single physical clash with Gabriel had sent a violent, bone shattering force through her ancient body. She was nothing but a fragile ghost clinging to a rotting, broken vessel. The skin on her hands was already starting to crack like dry clay, and thin lines of black blood were slowly trickling down her wrists.
She could feel her bones fracturing under the weight of his strikes. Her wrists were cracked, and her internal power was leaking away with every passing second.
