As the battlefield erupted in chaos, with forces clashing and ground collapsing, one area stood apart from the turmoil. It wasn't slower or calmer; it felt sharper and quieter, like a blade slicing through flesh without a sound.
At the center of this eerie calm moved Vanthrice, her bronze spear flickering in and out of existence as she navigated the ruins with a rhythm that contrasted sharply with the frenzy surrounding her. She didn't shout or waste breath on words or anger; her face remained calm, her eyes focused.
Each movement was precise and purposeful, every step measured, every strike executed with clarity. While others charged through enemies with brute force or emotional outbursts, she advanced as if carving a path through a problem she had already solved in her mind.
An enemy fighter rushed at her from the front, blade raised high. His speed was decent, his footing steady despite the broken ground beneath him.
