Zenki stood on the battlefield, the remnants of his fiery clash with Drakthar still smoldering around him. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of scorched earth hung in the air. He had just emerged victorious, but the battle had taken its toll on him.
As he caught his breath, a voice, dripping with arrogance and malice, pierced the stillness. "I had a feeling something was wrong... and here we are."
Turning his gaze toward the source of the voice, Zenki's sharp eyes locked onto a figure emerging from the shadows. It was Malachi Flamespire, the Inferno Bladewielder. Malachi's towering form seemed to materialize from the darkness itself, a menacing presence that exuded an air of unyielding arrogance.
