The void was silent, but the warrior's first movement tore through the stillness like a thunderclap.
The Gingwi lunged, covering the vast, immeasurable distance between them in a single, terrifying stride.
It swung the massive halberd in a horizontal arc that possessed enough sheer force to cleave a mountain in two. The sheer pressure of the swing warped the twilight space around it, creating a vacuum that dragged Jolthar forward.
Jolthar didn't try to block.
In the realm of consciousness, force was equal to willpower, and he could feel the crushing weight of the creature's hatred radiating from the steel.
He threw himself beneath the sweeping blade. The air above him shrieked as the halberd passed, cutting a literal rift into the fabric of his consciousness. As he rolled, Jolthar extended his right hand, his will forging his weapon of choice: a heavy, double-edged broadsword that crackled with golden, branching lightning—a spark of his chaos.
