In an arena that was filled with tension, the air heavy as lead before the storm.
On one side, Aphir held his sword, its blade glowing with a fiery glow, the heat emanating from it distorting the air. On the other, Syrus, shrouded in a dark aura that sucked in the light around him, brandished his curved scythe, its shadows dancing menacingly like living tentacles.
The audience could barely breathe, the anticipation suffocating.
With an aggressive leap that cracked the ground beneath his feet, Aphir's sword, wreathed in roaring flames like a beast, slashed through the air towards Syrus, releasing a scorching flaming arc that seemed to consume everything in its path, the air hissing in protest.
