The containment runes vibrated, struggling to keep reality intact under the pressure of the two colliding Daos. Their luminous patterns flickered like glass ribs under tension. Yet nothing felt as heavy as the silence between the two combatants.
Tharos stood at the center of the field, motionless but not passive. It was like watching a mountain breathe. Her feet rooted into the ground, absorbing every telluric pulse. The colossus beside her raised its fist, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Before her, Niko was its very antithesis. She breathed with no visible rhythm. Her form was a question mark against the solidity of the earth. She seemed untouched by gravity. Her presence was absence. The lit eyes within the shadows cast not a glow, but a silent call to the void. A vacuum that sucked even the color from the surrounding air.
The strike came.
The colossus' fist descended with enough force to deform the landscape.
