Streaks of purple tore through the golden world, flashing from one floating island to another as they collided in an endless barrage of attacks that sent intense force blasting outward.
The entire islands were flattened in an instant. Fissures spread across their surfaces before they shattered, and an endless rain of broken earth fell from the skies.
However, Atticus' world was silent. Somehow, despite the endless attacks, the destruction, the chaos… it was as though none of it existed to him.
His emotions had vanished, his mind sinking into an empty, static silence. In this state, what moved Atticus was nothing but pure instinct.
He saw only the man before him.
The man was unseen, lights flickering across his body as he vanished and reappeared in rapid succession. Brutal attacks surged toward him in violent torrents from every direction.
But Atticus' katana moved with him, flowing as though it were an extension of his body.
