Michael soared through the chaotic battlefield towards Dracula, his mighty sword radiating a blinding, ethereal light that pierced the surrounding shadows like a beacon of divine fury.
He swung his sword with unyielding force at Dracula, but the lord of the eternal night dodged the strike effortlessly, his form a blur of dark elegance amid the swirling mists of combat.
Yet Michael, the archangel forged in the fires of war and battle, refused to yield so easily.
His eyes burned with celestial determination, his wings beating powerfully against the heavy air thick with the scent of blood and brimstone.
He launched another attack, his movements fluid and precise, thrusting forward with a deadly stab aimed straight at Dracula's heart.
But the assault was halted abruptly by a towering wall of solid flames that erupted from the ground, crackling with intense heat and casting flickering orange glows across the fighters' faces.
