The Chakram Of End hovered silently in the void, her breath a whisper upon the stars.
Scars marked her near-perfect form, but they vanished within moments, as though the very wounds feared to linger upon her flesh.
Blood traced languid paths down her body, her eyes veined with crimson fury.
Her garments and hair, once pristine, were now soaked in the hue of her own lifeblood.
Across from her, Xezural stood, or rather, endured, in an equal state of ruin.
Shadows pooled around him, his blood as dark as the void, staining the space where he floated.
Their battle had raged for over a day, a continuous clash that defied exhaustion.
Even the war erupting across the military base had stretched into its second day.
A conflict of this magnitude could not be resolved in mere hours, it demanded days of bloodshed. The last total war had endured for seven.
