The screams of the dying, the tweeting of the frightened, fleeing birds as they took off from their perches, even the sound of Morne's breathing was cut off from him as that storm broke loose.
What happened next was something that would be imprinted on the memories of this battle's survivors for the rest of their lives.
For several seconds, the combatants lingered around tensely, some having stopped mid-strike, as still as a slab of marble, and others doing their best to keep their blood from spilling out of their wounds.
It was only later, when they were left to lick their wounds and grieve their losses, that they would realize that the time that passed couldn't be measured in something as grand as a second.
From release to contact, less than a fraction of a second had passed. And yet, to them, it was as if time itself had been stretched thin. So powerful was the storm, so grandiose, that their entire worlds had slowed to take in its majesty.
