With breathtaking speed, Spectre appeared before Anthony, his presence a blur of motion.
Without hesitation, he unleashed his strike.
Lightning crackled along the length of his katana, illuminating the battlefield with its volatile brilliance.
He brought the blade down in a decisive arc, intent on cleaving Anthony in two.
Yet, Anthony merely observed the incoming attack with an unshaken smile, an air of effortless composure radiating from his very being.
Then, he moved.
Not with urgency, nor with flourish, just a single motion.
A hand.
A finger.
The very tip of his finger met the descending blade head on.
And in that instant, a deafening crack split the air.
A shockwave erupted from the clash, distorting space itself as raw force rippled outward.
He did not shroud his finger in mana.
He did not reinforce it with intent.
It was nothing but sheer, unadulterated physical strength.
