The shattered remnants of the shadow domain drifted through the gorge like torn, soot-black silk, hissing as they dissolved against the lingering solar afterglow. Boiling trenches crisscrossed the valley floor, venting white-hot steam where dragonfire and blade qi had scarred the bedrock.
Before the drifting vapor could clear, An Ning was already in motion.
His departure produced no wind, only a silent stroke of pitch-black velocity that erased his figure from the mortal eye.
"Lorgann—!" Shaurya's warning scraped past a bloodied throat.
An Ning materialized mid-stride between man and beast, his curved single-edged blade already halfway through a decapitating arc.
Shaurya's instincts, honed through countless near-death trials, moved before his conscious mind could command. Bracing his lead foot until the stone split beneath his boot, he whipped the Meteorite Sword around with both hands.
"Ultimate Sword Strike!"
