It was a primal urge, the kind that came when the body knew something was dangerously wrong. His eyes darted ahead, and his heart skipped a beat. There, standing amidst the still-raging shockwave, was a figure clad in dark, gleaming armor.
The figure was motionless, like a monolith in the center of chaos, emanating an aura of sheer power. The air around them seemed to warp, distorted by the immense force radiating from the armored figure.
The ground trembled beneath them, cracking as if the very earth itself recoiled from the presence of the armored figure. Ivaim could feel the weight of the pressure in the air, an oppressive force that squeezed the breath from his chest.
For a moment, he faltered, his instinct screaming to move, to act—but his body froze under the sheer intensity of the moment.
