Time seemed to grind to a halt as the island held its breath, the tense silence broken only by the gentle whisper of the wind.
Haze stood at the center of the circle, his eyes locked on the writhing tentacles that surrounded him, each muscle in his body tensed and ready for the coming battle.
The tentacles, too, appeared to have frozen, their bulbous, twisting forms coiled like springs that could unleash their fury at any moment.
It was a moment of calm before the storm, a moment where the combatants paused to size each other.
With a cacophony of deafening roars, the tentacles sprang into action, their bodies uncoiling and lashing out at Haze in a deadly flurry of muscle and flesh.
Haze spun out of the way of the first tentacle, his body seeming to dance through the air as he evaded its deadly swipe.
