The first clash of swords caused the entire ship to shake violently. The deck creaked as if it were about to split in two; the wood, unable to withstand such pressure, cracked and spat splinters in all directions.
The pirate smiled broadly, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. His arm trembled from the force he was exerting, but he did not retreat. Instead, he applied more pressure, stubbornly sinking his sword deeper.
The clash of their auras collided like invisible lightning bolts, generating electric crackles that filled the deck with a vibrant and oppressive air.
Michel felt the growing weight of that power. His feet sank a few millimeters deeper into the damaged wood, leaving marks as if the deck itself wanted to trap him. However, not even the slightest trace of discomfort appeared on his face. Quite the contrary: a small, calm, and amused smile remained intact on his lips.
