But deep within those eyes, which usually burned with rage, an undeniable shadow born from the absolute disparity in Power was slowly spreading.
He did not fear death. But against an opponent who could mercilessly erase the very act of inflicting damage, a Warrior's pride and fighting spirit felt as if they had crashed against an invisible, eternal wall of sighs.
Avril pressed her pale lips together. An Elf's pride kept her spine straight, but the slightly lowered tip of her arrow and the hint of bewilderment deep in her eyes betrayed her faltering resolve.
She excelled at finding the spark of life within the currents of nature, but this completely 'defined' expanse of Space-Time before her was cold, precise, and offered no foothold for her Natural Spiritual Attribute.
Galvis clutched his battered Lute, his fingertips unconsciously brushing across its broken strings, yet he could no longer coax a single inspiring note from it.
