The battlefield was a ruin of broken ground.
The invisible cameras caught every detail.
And now, the last battles were reaching their climax.
Marin staggered back, her breathing ragged, her body covered in deep bruises and cuts.
She had fought fiercely, her relentless onslaught nearly overwhelming Vynesaa. But nearly wasn't enough.
Vynesaa's eyes glowed faintly, her breath heavy, her body trembling from overexertion.
Her fingers were broken, her right hand barely able to move.
Yet, she gritted her teeth, gripping her blade with her left.
Marin saw it—the madness in Vynesaa's eyes, the refusal to fall, the absolute hunger for victory.
Then—a greenish arc painted the air.
Marin's body stiffened before she collapsed, her sword slipping from her fingers as she hit the ground.
A deep slash across her torso marked her defeat.
Vynesaa exhaled sharply, her knees almost giving out beneath her.
She had won.
On the other hand—
Calenthir wasn't winning.
She was surviving.
