Sylas stood across from Plinli, his gaze calm and his breathing unhurried. The latter was livid, his hair and own breathing tainted by a haggard cadence.
They stood in the very same arena General Aleen had lost his life in. The scent of blood filled the air.
If one looked at the stage beneath their feet, the tiles were filled with grout lines of flesh.
It was hard to tell just how many life and death battles had been fought here, but one largely loomed over all the others, and it just so happened to be the only other one that Sylas had been a part of.
Plinli flipped over a palm and a spear appeared. Sparks of lightning coursed through his veins until suddenly…
Sylas tapped a foot.
A large amount of Aether rushed out from Sylas and in the blink of an eye, he had used up over 80% of his reserves. But in return, the entire arena was coated in a thin sheet of Glass.