A loud thunderstrike split the air, signaling the start of the clash between Canna and the saint. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the storm raging overhead, as the two warriors collided with raw, unrestrained power. Find more to read at empire
Canna's speed was blistering—far beyond what he had shown in his previous bout with Varya. The crowd, which had been able to catch glimpses of his movents before, was now completely overwheld. Canna moved too fast for their eyes to follow, his white hair barely visible as he beca a streak of motion across the arena.
All they could see were the sparks and flashes that erupted every ti the scythe in Canna's hand t the fists of the saint.
The saint stood his ground, his movents precise and deliberate, despite the chaos unfolding around him. He fought without weapons, relying solely on his fists, which were as hard as steel. Each punch carried a shocking force, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Canna's scythe t these fists again and again, and each ti, the sound was like a hamr striking an anvil.
Canna noted the strength behind each of the saint's punches. It wasn't normal—not for a man of flesh and blood. After a few clashes, Canna realized the saint was using so kind of enhancent skill, hardening his fists to the point where they could rival the sharp edge of a blade.
The fight was brutal—each strike, each block, sending tremors through the ground beneath them. The arena shook with the intensity of their battle, and yet, neither of them had unleashed their full power. This was rely an exchange of raw strength and skill, and even so, it was overwhelming.
Canna, wielding his scythe with deadly precision, fought with a unique style—one that blended agility and strength. His movents were fluid, and with each swing of his scythe, he commanded the hundreds of water arrows hovering in the air behind him.
Each ti the saint would dodge or block, one of Canna's lightning-charged arrows would dart in, perfectly tid with his attacks, keeping the saint on the defensive.
The crowd watched in awe as Canna demonstrated a level of control that seed impossible. Not only was he engaging in a high-speed, high-stakes duel, but he was also maintaining his water arrows, each one charged with enough mana to crush stone.
It was a display of incredible multitasking—the arrows firing off at precise intervals, forcing the saint to defend against both close-range and long-range attacks simultaneously.
The saint, however, was no pushover. He had spent his life as a warrior, and his instincts were honed to perfection. Despite Canna's relentless assault, the saint was able to keep up, blocking and parrying with his hardened fists, weaving through the rain of arrows with grace and power. His strikes were heavy, each one threatening to break through Canna's defenses.
For several minutes, the two warriors traded blows, neither gaining the upper hand. Canna's scythe danced through the air, slashing with incredible force, while the saint's fists struck with the weight of a mountain. The arena was filled with the sound of tal clashing against flesh, each impact sending shockwaves through the ground.
But then, the saint decided to up the fight.
His eyes narrowed, and his body began to glow with a faint, golden aura. His muscles swelled, and his fra seed to grow larger, more imposing. Canna could feel the shift imdiately. The saint was using a powerful skill—one that enhanced both his speed and strength. His already hard fists beca even tougher, and his movents quickened to a pace that could match Canna's.
With a mighty roar, the saint lunged forward, his fists now moving at a blinding speed. Each strike was faster and more powerful than before, forcing Canna to adapt. The two clashed again, but this ti, it was different. The saint's speed had increased dramatically, and his fists were like cannonballs, each punch leaving a crater in the ground whenever they missed their mark.
Canna, unfazed, adjusted his stance. He continued to wield his scythe with precision, parrying the saint's blows and retaliating with lightning-fast counterattacks. His water arrows darted through the air, now charged with even more electricity, their impacts creating explosions of steam wherever they struck the arena floor.
The crowd could barely comprehend what they were seeing. This was no ordinary battle. The sheer intensity of the fight had reached a level they had never witnessed before. The air itself seed to hum with power as the saint's golden fists t Canna's lightning-charged scythe.
But then, in the midst of the chaos, Canna heard a familiar voice.
It was soft at first, almost like a whisper carried on the wind, but it grew louder, reaching his ears clearly.
"My liege."
Canna paused for a split second, just long enough to take a step back, disengaging from the fight. The saint stopped as well, watching Canna closely, his fists still raised, ready to continue at a mont's notice.
A red portal appeared behind Canna, swirling with ominous energy. The sight of the portal sent a ripple of shock through the saint. He recognized the power emanating from it—it was the power of a domain. But that made no sense. Domains were reserved for beings who had reached the rank of demigod or higher. How could soone like Canna have access to such a thing?
His confusion deepened as the portal began to shimr, and from within it, a figure erged.
A towering, red-skinned figure stepped through the portal, his massive form radiating strength and power. His face was frad by sharp tusks and piercing red eyes, his expression one of pure dominance. He wasn't wearing armor, but his muscular form was adorned with tribal markings that swirled over his skin, each line telling a story of battle and survival.
The crowd looked on in stunned silence, many of them unfamiliar with the Voragon—an extinct race of warriors.
This was Vorgrim, Canna's second born and the general of Canna's shock troops.
He knelt before Canna, his head bowed in respect. "Thank you for hearing my request, my liege. I shall take it from here."
Canna gave a small nod, stepping back as Vorgrim rose to his full height, his eyes locking onto the saint.
The saint, still reeling from the shock of seeing a domain portal, narrowed his eyes at the new challenger. He could sense it imdiately—this wasn't just so ordinary fighter. This was a being of incredible power.
Vorgrim, unfazed by the saint's gaze, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as he prepared for battle.
The saint clenched his fists, his golden aura flaring around him. But for the first ti in a long, long ti, he felt sothing unfamiliar—a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades.
Fear.
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