The rain fell without interruption.
There was nothing above them to stop it. It poured straight down onto bodies where they had fallen, washing blood across the open ground and turning stone and earth into a thick mire of mud, ash, and shattered remains. Every step sank slightly before pulling free again.
Trafalgar kept moving.
Maledicta never left his right hand.
The sword was constant, solid, its presence anchoring every movement as he advanced through the downpour. It rose and fell in short, controlled arcs, cutting through anything that came too close to it's edge. There was no excess in his swings. Just enough to keep moving.
To his left, mana flickered when needed.
A blade appeared for an instant in his off hand, struck, and dissolved again. A dagger formed, flew, and vanished into particles before it could hit the ground. Nothing stayed longer than it had to.
