The air between Aziz and Crow crackled with internal energy, the oppressive heat of the smoldering forest mixing with the eerie chill of killing intent.
The faint caws of the circling ravens above echoed in the background, the only reminder that the world outside their deadly standoff still existed.
Aziz crouched low, his Bloodsword shimmering faintly in his grip, while Mal, now in her new humanoid form, coiled her body low to the ground like a serpent poised to strike.
Crow stood tall, unshaken, his black eyes—borrowed from the countless ravens above—calculating and cold.
Despite the wild destruction surrounding them, he moved with the deliberate grace of a predator, every step grounded and precise.
"You're fast, boy," Crow said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "But let's see how you fare when there's nowhere left to run."
Aziz's jaw tightened, his mind racing through strategies. He had underestimated Crow.
