The arena pulsed with a restless charge, mana sharp and biting, like static pressed against the skin. The sanded floor bore scars from earlier clashes—cracks spiderwebbing across its surface, scorch marks still smoldering faintly.
Lucien and Sylith clashed instantly.
Lucien's eyes blazed gold, the Eye of God snapping open, his pupils burning like suns. Mana threads lit up across the battlefield, every current and ripple mapped in perfect detail. He saw her gathering before she moved—her chest tight with psychic force, the vortex spiraling inside her core.
He blurred aside, speed born of foresight, as the pulse erupted. A shimmering shockwave bent the air where he had stood, splitting the ground in jagged scars. The runes along the arena flared in protest, struggling to contain the blast.
Lucien countered at once. His hand swept, mana gathering into a glowing orb, a miniature star pulsing at his palm. He hurled it, a comet of condensed energy streaking through the haze.
