Drakovitch didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned into the strike, letting the shockwaves of her borrowed power rattle his own frame. He was playing her game now, granting her the one thing a warrior like Gin craved more than life itself: a glorious, soul shattering battle where every blow felt like it could be the last.
He allowed her to believe she was reaching him, letting her calcified fists dent the air around his head, pushing her to the very limit of her stolen evolution.
For a heartbeat, Gin truly believed she had found the opening. She saw a flicker in his guard, a momentary lapse in the King's absolute defense. She coiled her muscles, her dragon bone reinforced heart hammering against her ribs and threw everything she was into a final, killing thrust.
"FOR THE GROUNDED! FOR THE SKY THAT THEY NEVER REACH! DIE, YOU TYRANT!"
