It began with a tremor.
The kind that signified an approaching danger.
The ground shook, the building crumbled into dust, and cracks snaked across the asphalt.
An eruption of sand followed, bursting out of the cracks with intense force and showering the surroundings with brown dust.
Art, facing the destruction head-on, didn't so much as flinch. He merely took out his blade.
No Snowdance—just raw aura, which he used in performing a single slash that blinded the world.
The sand was pushed back, the asphalt erased, and the building cleaved into pieces.
When the world resumed its original color, the destruction from before paled in contrast to the one he had unleashed.
A whole city block had been burnt away, leaving behind mountains of rubble seeping with sand.
Art, bringing down his sword leaking with golden aura, took to the skies in a powerful leap, observing the distance for any trace of his opponent.
He saw something.
A flash of orange that sparkled in the distance.
