The cold air slapped them the second they stepped out. Neon lights along the street flickered, colors bending under invisible pressure. A crowd was gathering at the far end, people clustering on sidewalks, heads tilted up like moths to a flame.
And there, in the center of the intersection, two figures.
One was built like a wall of iron, a hammer slung across his shoulder, the air around him rippling with raw mana. The other was lean, silver-haired, his coat snapping in the wind, eyes alight with a dangerous thrill.
The clash between them was almost silent, the kind of violence too deep for sound. Space itself seemed to ripple where their blows met, the pavement cracking and sinking as if it wanted to crawl away.
Lucen let out a low whistle. "'S-ranks. Real ones. Been a while since I've seen a pissing contest this close up.'"
Varik's eyes were locked on the fight. His jaw was set, unreadable.
