Their bodies bled from many tens of wounds, covered in bruises, cuts, ice fragments, and burns.
They were close to the limit but neither showed any sign of backing down.
Instead, the opposite was happening.
Pain seemed to be a foreign concept for them, as they never stopped going all out.
"RAAAH!"
Kremlin gritted his teeth and charged forward again, fists raised.
Damien met him head-on, and they slammed into each other with the force of two charging bulls.
""DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!""
Their fists were a blur, each strike landing with a sickening thud.
No strategy was on display—just pure, unbridled aggression.
Kremlin's Aether waned more than ever before, but he refused to slow.
And he wasn't the only one.
Damien, bleeding like a broken fountain, somehow kept up with him, closely matching his every step, his every punch.
