A single breath hung between them, thin and scorched.
The space separating Shaurya and An Ning measured less than a foot—close enough that the searing radiation of solar qi scorched An Ning's frayed lapels, while the razor-sharp pressure of abyssal shadow carved micro-fissures into Shaurya's collarbone. Their right fists were drawn back to their ribs, muscles corded like coiled steel ropes, the blood in their forearms hissing as pure intent primed the strike.
Then, the void collapsed.
BOOOOOOOM!
Knuckle drove into knuckle dead center.
The air pocket caught between their calluses detonated like a thunderstone. A pure, circular shockwave sheared outward at ground level, biting into the basalt floor and excavating a thirty-foot crater in a microsecond. The pulverized bedrock kicked up in a blinding, circular curtain of white talc.
Before the sound could fade, Shaurya tore through the screen of debris.
