Axelius looked up, hearing the sharp caw from above. His smirk returned the moment he saw the familiar black wings slicing through the sky.
"Good timing," he said, raising his hand calmly. "I've been waiting for a worthy monster."
With a sudden glint of silver, the blade fell from the air—Crow's delivery was precise. The sword spun once before landing cleanly in Axelius's open palm with a satisfying clink.
He gripped the hilt tightly and gave it one smooth swing. The wind from the motion brushed past Nyx and Gob, making their hair and fur whip slightly to the side.
The moment he stepped forward, the orcs stirred.
One step.
Then another.
Then, just as Axelius took his third step, the orcs around them suddenly moved—not toward him, but away. They stepped back, stomping their feet as they retreated in unison, forming a rough circle.
A wide enough space for battle.
An arena.
Axelius exhaled softly and rolled his shoulders. The blade in his hand pulsed with weight and potential.
