There was a chilling, weary quality to her voice, the sound of a woman who had heard that exact same boast from a hundred different "gods" over three decades and had found every single one of them wanting.
The exchange was a nightmare of high-speed violence. For eight agonizing minutes, the plaza became a theater of the impossible.
Space bent and snapped; stone was pulverized into fine mist; blood sprayed in rhythmic, violent bursts as Morwenna's precision strikes found the gaps in Rex's defenses. It was a dance of gods and masters, a collision of absolute power and absolute experience, where a single millisecond of hesitation meant a shattered bone or a severed limb.
The air was thick with the sound of grinding rock, the hiss of displaced space, and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of two predators locked in a struggle for total dominance.
