Cecile surged forward, her trident a blur of precision and defiance. Each strike deflected the thunderous cracks of the seraph's whip, sending ripples of force through the air. Her ponytail whipped around her as she moved, darting through the chaos with a fluidity that defied the battlefield's bedlam. Tumbling seraphs and ravaging beasts alike were bypassed with an uncanny focus, her movements a symphony of power and grace.
Her opponent was no fool, maintaining her distance and striking with measured precision. The whip lashed again and again, seeking weakness, but Cecile was unyielding, parrying each strike with the finesse of a dancer and the ferocity of a tempest. Where others faltered, she pressed on, an unstoppable force cutting through the ranks of the lesser seraphs like a whirlwind.
