The battle reached a crescendo as Cyrus faced a final opponent—a hulking fishman wielding a massive trident. The adversary's thrusts were powerful, each strike carrying the weight of impending defeat. Cyrus, however, remained composed, utilizing a combination of acrobatic dodges and targeted strikes to gradually wear down the formidable foe. And eventually, he struck him down, breathing so heavily that mist literally escaped from his lips.
Cyrus, bathed in the eerie glow of the Leviathan's stomach, stood atop a mountain of defeated adversaries. His black blades, gleaming with residual energy, were cast aside with a nonchalant flick of his wrists. In a display of casual triumph, he seated himself upon the macabre throne of fishmen corpses, a lone figure in the aftermath of his relentless onslaught.
