Under a torrential rain that beat furiously against the ground littered with corpses and blood, two figures advanced toward the center of the field.
They were old men. One was from the legendary Medici Clan. The other was from the proud Abraham family.
Each step they took made the air rumble. Their auras, dense like signs of war, made the ground shake, silenced the crowd, and stopped the breath of everyone present.
At that moment, those watching them felt a strange sense of security... as if, while they were there, nothing could touch them. But at the same time, an inexplicable weight pressed down on everyone's chest. It was a mixture of respect, nostalgia, and loss.
Because those backs, curved by age but firm as steel, were not common. They were the backs of those who had carried entire eras of history. They were mountains. Titans that time had failed to bring down.
And as they watched them advance, everyone understood something:
They were about to witness a final battle.
