Ragnar shot his fist into the air.
Boom.
In a blink, constructs of raw soul energy erupted like jagged spears, racing skyward before suddenly pausing mid-air — twisting, turning, and then redirecting straight at him.
Dozens of them. Razor-sharp, fast, and precise.
"— How the hell did he do that?" Zayn muttered, spinning in the air with the agility of a born warrior.
His boots slammed into the ground, dust scattering. His eyes gleamed, adrenaline pumping.
Zayn didn't wait.
He twirled his fingers, channeling a thin, shimmering soul thread from his palm.
A heartbeat later, he was weaving — zigzagging between the speeding constructs like a dancer between falling blades.
Every dodge was inches from death, every move calculated chaos. If he lost here… well, that went a huge chunk of his ego.
And besides Seren was watching, what kind of big brother would he be if he couldn't win against Ragnar?
Flick. Snap.
The soul thread looped around one construct — then another — then five.
