The air left Nero's lungs. He skidded sideways, boots digging trenches in the dirt, his lightning sputtering. He hadn't even seen the swing, only felt the result—the wind wasn't just around Balrog's blade; it was the blade, extending its reach and power.
"Too linear!" Balrog's voice came from everywhere at once, carried by the wind.
"Lightning seeks the fastest path. A master chooses the path!"
Nero gritted his teeth, shaking off the numbness. He focused, not on Balrog's body, but on the flow of the air, the pressure changes. He saw it—a distortion streaking to his right. He didn't dodge. He planted his feet and thrust his free hand forward, unleashing a wild, branching fork of lightning into the empty space.
CRACK-BOOM!
