Hours had passed. Exhaustion gnawed at every muscle. Yet no one slowed.
Vital Mirage flowed with Jovian's movements like water. Every strike precise. Every defense instinctive.
The Syndicate pressed relentlessly. Voss, Lucent, Ragnar—they adapted. Every strike they threw tested a weakness, every illusion exploited hesitation.
Crimson Webs tightened around them. Oblivion bent reality and perception.
Jovian felt the weight of every attack pressing down. "…We can't stop now," he muttered.
Every second mattered. One moment of weakness, and it would all collapse.
Lucien, Alaric, Iggy—they all knew it. No one spoke. Actions were their language now.
The fight wasn't just physical. It was mental. Emotional. Spiritual.
And it was far from over.