***
In another place, a makeshift arena had formed, carved out of a frozen wasteland littered with jagged ice formations, rubble, and the shattered remains of earlier skirmishes.
The cold was everpresent—biting, the kind that gnawed at the bones and even chilled the soul—but for the two combatants at its center, it was nothing more than a harsh stage for their brutal duel.
Kremlin, the Russian Brawler, stood tall like a mountain, his massive frame covered in thick, muscle-bound flesh that seemed impenetrable to the icy winds of his own making.
Facing him was another Brawler, nearly as massive, nearly as imposing, with eyes that glinted with fire.
His mere presence seemed to melt the ice around him, making for quite a beautiful clash of the elements.
Judging by that sight, it made complete sense that the duel had lasted this long.
And that wasn't a surprise to Kremlin.
