The room was a storm of chaos and dust. The remnants of Murata's previous sand-based attack had filled every crevice, blurring the air in thick clouds. Particles of sand glinted faintly in the dim light, settling slowly, veiling the battlefield in a suffocating blanket of dirt. Dremmy stood in the middle of it all, breathing heavily, his arms and legs scratched from the earlier onslaught, though his grin remained, wide and confident.
He pivoted on the balls of his feet, eyes sweeping across the battlefield. He couldn't see Murata through the haze, but that didn't matter. Dremmy's voice echoed through the dusty air, a mocking edge sharp on his tongue, "You can't hide from me, little boy. My music will find you wherever you are. It always does."