As the battle dragged on, the leader found herself slipping further and further into a disadvantage. Every move she made felt sluggish, each strike less certain than the last. Her subordinates, the ones she had so carefully positioned to be fodder for her enemy, were beginning to fall — slaughtered under the relentless assault of that purplish aura that surrounded her opponent.
The attacks they launched were nothing more than futile gestures. They barely made a dent. Her enemy's armor absorbed everything, turning each strike into nothing but wasted energy.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Panic clawed at her mind. These were not supposed to be the conditions of her victory. She had expected to unleash her ultimate move, to catch the woman off guard and bring her to heel.
But time, cruel and unforgiving, was slipping away. Her subordinates, once a shield for her, had all perished — each one meeting a swift, brutal end not at her opponent's hands, but by someone else entirely.
