Max materialized on one side of the arena, his white hair stirring gently in the breeze produced by the transfer. He stood in complete composure, his black clothing undisturbed and his expression at ease, while Dragonheart rested in his dimensional space without any hint that he intended to draw it.
Compared to the swelling clamor rising from the Divine Realm outside and the strained attention of every participant within the Eternal Hourglass, Max appeared almost unnaturally calm, as though this were not the first great collision between peak geniuses but simply another fight he had chosen to walk into on his own terms.
Rakan Thorne landed on the opposite side with far greater force.
The instant his feet met the ground, the dark gold stone beneath him shuddered. His tall and battle-worn frame seemed to carry the weight of an entire mountain shaped by war, and his bare arms bore faint bronze markings that resembled old scars earned through countless trials of tempering.
