There wasn't a moment where those deep, amethyst eyes devoid of emotion weren't looking at him; from every angle, Ash watched him.
"Cutting Smoke."
"Scathing Billow."
"Mist Pulverization."
Three skills were invoked at once, coming from three of the variations of the Winged General that faced off against him; by this point, he'd long since lost track of which was the original Ash.
Three skills? Hah! No mercy! He thought.
Burrowing towards him, a tunnel of smoke that sliced up the lifeless soil hissed with malice from his front; to his right, a bountiful sphere of the black smoke erupted in his direction, unleashing heat waves that caused the wilted grass to be carried off as ash.
Worse, the third skill was born from behind him from the clone of the Winged General that had somehow gotten behind him.