Nero fought for thirty seconds.
But in those thirty seconds, he had carved through wave after wave of water clones with ruthless efficiency. Flames danced and roared around him, burning trails through the misty battlefield. Each swing of his sword turned bodies of water into bursts of steam.
Slash. Twist. Dodge. Burn.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of water clones were obliterated in his wake, their shattered forms evaporating before they even touched the ground.
His presence was so overwhelming, so ferociously focused, that even the demonized mage—with all his hatred and arrogance—couldn't help but smirk in dark amusement.
"Hehehe! You're sure something," the mage chuckled, his burned lips curling into a grin that revealed bloodstained teeth.
"Let's hope you don't die from my next spell. Like I said... you won't get an easy death."
With a sharp wave of his hand, the mage withdrew the remaining clones, the mist pulling back like a curtain before a performance.
