The air crackled with a chaotic energy, a swirling vortex of emerald flames and primal rage. The clearing became a battleground as the Nightingale Fox and the Deucalion clashed in a dance of fire and fury. Each blow left a searing mark, the stench of singed fur and burnt flesh filling the air.
Eleanor, her head throbbing with pain, watched in horror from the ground. The blow to her head had disoriented her, leaving her vision blurry and her body weak. But the sight of the Nightingale Fox, locked in this desperate struggle, fueled a surge of adrenaline through her.
"Abigael!" she rasped, her voice strained.
Abigael, her face streaked with dirt and sweat, hesitated. She knew the danger of intervening, but the desperation in Eleanor's voice resonated deep within her. With a determined nod, she unsheathed her silver dagger, the moonlight glinting off the polished surface.
