Upperhand
The swamp was alive with movement.
The soil beneath them squelched with each step, the murky waters rippling as the combatants prepared to collide in a fury that would leave an indelible mark upon the landscape.
The swamp, with its layers of thick leaves, moss, and murky waters, seemed to groan in anticipation of the impending clash.
On one side stood Anthony, his katana drawn, the blade gleaming with the faint glow of his elemental affinity.
His body emanated a quiet power, the aura of the water element around him like a shifting, fluid force, constantly in motion, never stagnant.
His ice-infused aura wrapped around him like a shield, preparing him for the inevitable onslaught.
Across from him, Aurelia Dusksorrow stood poised, the very air around her distorting with the sheer weight of her power.
Her spear, long and wicked, its shaft wrapped in intricate runes, hung at her side.