The battlefield trembled with tension.
Purple light still pulsed faintly from Lira's fists.
Her aura stretched out, brushing the shattered streets, the ruins, even the smoke.
Yuki stared at her.
Her robe torn, her hair messy, her calm, lazy smirk replaced by something sharper.
"…Hmph," she muttered.
Slowly, almost lazily, she bent down.
Her hands reached to her feet.
Chains.
Heavy iron weights.
Locks binding her ankles.
"…So this is why you were slow," Lira said casually, tilting her head.
Yuki's fingers worked at the locks.
One click.
Two clicks.
The chains fell away.
Her body seemed to stretch, elongate, and her feet—light as clouds—touched the ground with barely a sound.
The wind shifted.
Dust and rubble swirled.
The battlefield itself seemed to sense a change.
Yuki finally lifted her head.
Eyes no longer half-lidded.
They glowed faintly with purple-grey energy, mirroring the aura around Lira's fists.
"…Interesting," Yuki said, voice now sharp, precise.
"…You've grown fast. But now…"
She leaped.
Faster than the eye could follow.
Lira's purple fist pulsed. She moved with untrackable speed.
Yet Yuki matched her.
Stride for stride.
Fist for fist.
Clash after clash.
Sparks flew. Dust exploded.
Rubble crumbled.
Kael gaped.
"…She's… keeping up?"
Prince Eldarin staggered back, clutching his sword like it was suddenly useless.
"…Impossible!" he gasped.
Lira smiled faintly, wiping dust from her shoulder.
"…Good. Fast friend," she said.
Yuki smirked back.
"…Finally… someone to actually entertain me," she said, brushing the last of her torn robe aside.
The two of them—a whirlwind of purple energy and untrackable speed—clashed again.
Mountains of debris shook.
The Dwarven Kingdom itself seemed to brace, as if knowing it had just become a playground for forces it could not comprehend.
The battle had changed.
No longer was Yuki slow.
No longer was Lira desperate.
Now—
Both moved as equals.
And the battlefield trembled in awe.
To Be Continued…