Mikail kept moving, each precise step and swing, Shots, and blows of his ever-changing weapon causing a shadow creature to vanish into wisps of darkness. His every motion was deliberate, graceful yet brutal, like a storm forged into human form. The battlefield was chaos, yet to him, it was choreography.
The creatures didn't matter.
Their numbers didn't matter.
His body knew what to do before his mind could even form the thought.
Dodge. Strike. Shift. Fire. Crush. Move again.
Every strike was final. Every motion, a sentence of death.
His luminous blade morphed once more, reshaping into a chained sickle. He spun it overhead before hurling it into a cluster of enemies. The chain wrapped around one yanked it forward, and-
*BOOM!*
Mikail met it with a glowing uppercut that shattered its form completely. He let the momentum carry him into a spin, the sickle swinging wide and cutting through three more.
And still, they came.
But so did his wrath.
