The shadows finished coalescing, and what emerged made even the battle-hardened survivors take an involuntary step back.
Ninja-like figures, dressed in the same fitted garments as the first round opponents. But the similarity ended there.
These moved differently. Stood differently. The air around them felt heavier, charged with a presence that spoke of genuine skill rather than manufactured difficulty. Where the first-round ninjas had been competent, these were something else entirely—professionals, masters, killers who'd perfected their craft over countless battles.
Their posture alone told the story. Perfectly balanced, weight distributed in ways that suggested they could move in any direction with equal speed. Eyes that tracked everything while seeming to focus on nothing. The kind of relaxed readiness that only came from absolute confidence in one's abilities.
The divine comments erupted across every screen, visible to all watching:
