Nyssira stirred, just slightly.
The chains of lightning clanging around her gave a hollow metallic echo, the crackle of electromagnetic force whispering in the charged air.
Then—like a rain of weapons—the uncountable black blades descended.
Each moved with a will of its own, yet flowed together in a vicious, perfect tandem, like a tide of death.
Nyssira was already moving. Already flowing.
Her sledgehammer swept behind her as she whooshed forward, the ground beneath her feet cracking slightly from the force.
The first wave of swords struck.
A violent hurricane erupted at the center of the arena, an explosion of rippling force, as Nyssira blasted forward with her hammer gripped in both hands. She moved at a speed that shattered all expectations—faster than anything she had displayed before.
Her body blurred across the battered stage, weaving through the deluge of blades, her hammer whirling at a terrifying, relentless pace.
Each motion seemed almost effortless.
