***
A Short While Earlier
Red Dragon stood on cracked, scorched ground, the air around him thick with the scent of brimstone, shimmering with heat.
A type of heat that was unlike Damien's, a kind that warped the air itself, creating waves of intense... unnatural warmth.
It was alive—a concentrated fire—a hell beyond what was realistically possible.
Across from him, his opponent—a Hell Weaver like himself—matched his stance.
Both were cloaked in the flames that defined their specialization, their eyes locked.
The arena seemed split in two: one side bore armageddon while the other was marked with fewer abilities, an area that clearly belonged to the Hellweaver from Templar.
Red Dragon seemed to have conserved his Aether.
It was clear now why this battle had dragged on.
Emir's favorite chinaman had been biding his time, waiting until his leader was finished with his duel.
