Belarion is like a force of nature, an embodiment of relentless fury and unyielding strength.
His every move is a maelstrom of violence.
His fists, like sledgehammers, struck with an unyielding force that shattered bones upon contact.
Each kick he unleashed was a hurricane of power, sending his foes flying through the air as if they were mere leaves caught in a tempest.
His eyes, once clear and calm, now glowed with an eerie red hue, a reflection of the battle rage that had consumed him.
The veins in his neck and forehead bulged with tension, and every muscle in his body coiled like a tightly wound spring.
Blood coated him from head to toe, his once gleaming armor now a grim testament to the carnage he had wrought.
His armor, dented and riddled with holes from enemy strikes, clung to him like a second skin, weighed down by the viscous mixture of his own blood and that of his adversaries.
