By dawn, the battlefield was a chaotic mess. Rubble, scorch marks, and fractured energy lines scarred the streets. The new enemies pressed harder, relentless. Their coordination was flawless, almost mechanical, testing every limit of Jovian and his friends.
Vital Mirage moved with him like a living shield. Each strike precise, each defense reactive. They were in rhythm, almost anticipating each other's thoughts. But fatigue was real. Every breath, every step demanded focus.
Lucien struck again and again, Midnight Sontana striking with surgical precision. Alaric countered multiple angles simultaneously, Golden Cavalier radiating stability. Iggy darted unpredictably, creating openings where none existed.
The enemies adapted faster than before. Every tactic, every pattern they used was countered almost instantly. And yet, Jovian noticed small cracks—tiny hesitations in their movements, slight delays in their attacks.
"…We find the weak points," he said, voice low but steady.
Vital Mirage pulsed in acknowledgment. The battle wasn't over. It would take every ounce of skill, every fraction of timing, and the absolute trust of his friends to survive.
Because in this fight, even a second's hesitation could break everything.