The monster didn't move. Its flesh was deeply rooted beneath the ground, like a tree of flesh and blood, branches brandishing blades, whipping up a storm.
The distance kept closing, the two entities touched, shaking the soul.
Waves surged in neat circles, spreading in all directions, branches fiercely lashing the Flame Holder's armor, cutting through the water and tearing the soil.
Countless branches, driven by Roger's will, whipped forward.
The Flame Holder faced a thousand blades, and in turn, it swung a thousand of its own.
Iron feathers intertwined with branches, the Flame Holder and the monster collided, and in an instant, the temperature reached its peak, billowing steam engulfed them, leaving only ever-expanding balls of mist.
A high-pitched sound echoed within, like an unending symphony, a band performing, singing of death and mourning.
