The tension in the air thickened as Vorgrim and the saint of Clan Varran stood across from one another, fists raised, bodies poised for another brutal exchange. The storm rumbled overhead, and the arena, once filled with roaring spectators, had become a battlefield of destruction. The crowd was no longer cheering—they were fleeing. The sheer power radiating from the two combatants was too much for most to handle.
Canna, seated calmly in the air with his conjured chair, watched with a faint smile. The arena beneath him was being slowly torn apart by the clashing titans, but Canna didn't flinch. He was simply observing, enjoying the spectacle of a pure, primal battle of warrior skill.
