Vahalin and Serenelle maneuvered through the chaos of the battlefield with lethal precision, their weapons striking unerringly at vital points.
After a series of relentless exchanges, their blades clashed one final time before they withdrew, a tense moment of separation marking the pause in their duel.
Serenelle's form remained wreathed in phoenix flames, the intense fire dancing fiercely around her.
With each deliberate breath she took, the temperature rose steadily, the air shimmering with unbearable heat, promising impending devastation.
Vahalin stood motionless, his gaze fixed on Serenelle.
The way she wielded her rapier, graceful yet unrelenting, conveyed a daunting truth: even if he transitioned to his most refined sword techniques, it would be futile.
