A charged silence hung in the air, dense and suffocating, like a storm ready to break. There was no turning back now. Theodric swallowed hard, sweat tracing hot lines down his cheeks. With a single, unwavering resolve, he made the first move.
With a sharp intake of breath, he stepped forward, his seven knives shimmering with immortal energy, the glow pulsating like a heartbeat in his hands. A flick of his wrist sent them hurtling through the air in seamless succession, each blade a whisper of death, gliding like a phantom's touch, silent, precise, and deadly. They tore through the tension like arrows through mist, their presence warping the space around them with sheer velocity.
