The air trembled with a suffocating weight as corrupted mana surged from the cloaked figure like a storm of shadows. Luca's grip tightened around his twin sabers—one black, one white—the blades glinting faintly under the wavering torchlight of the mountain rocks. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling as sweat rolled down his temple.
The cloaked figure stood still, hands empty, yet each movement radiated a monstrous pressure. Dark energy coiled around his limbs, bending the very air as though reality itself strained against him.
Then he struck.
A blur—faster than Luca's eye could track. An open palm, aimed at his chest.
