Altair stared at the sacred flame in his hand, slowly turning to embers, unable to maintain its current form for longer than ten seconds. Without a base spell to cling to, his soul could not support the massive drain. Still, during that time, Morrigan laid waste to the hundreds of undead within the vicinity. She hadn't seemed to be in a rush, saving the majority of her mana by not using any big skills.
It had seemed obvious, but watching the grace with which Morrigan killed only seemed to highlight how much of a proficient killer she truly was. That much had been obvious. Yet, seeing her in action, Altair felt an odd sense of rivalry. He'd never felt this way before. After all, who in his generation, but those who experience rebirth, could face him?
