Each step, each attack, each block was like battling a force of nature. Findir felt the weight of time itself pressing down on him, as if the orc's magic tugged at his very essence, slowing him just enough to make every movement an exercise in precision and control. Despite his own incredible speed and skill, the deceased orc—still reeling from exhaustion—matched him blow for blow.
Wind howled as Findir leapt back, daggers flashing as he aimed for the orc's exposed neck, only for the old warrior to dodge with a twist that seemed to defy logic. The time magic warping around him gave him just enough leeway to evade the lethal strike. The exchange was brutal, their motions almost invisible to the naked eye, a whirlwind of clashing magic and sheer will.
