The swords shot forward, blurring with ferocious black speed, twisting and twirling through the air like a storm of fangs.
Nyssira surged ahead with a soundless step, twirling her hammer into motion. Each clash between hammer and blade detonated with thunderous force, sending tremors crackling through the arena.
She moved like a drifting leaf—an image that defied the brutal weight of the weapon she wielded. Sometimes, she held the hammer with one hand, swinging it in fluid arcs; other times, she hurled it overhead with both arms, crashing down upon the swords.
Yet no blade shattered. Instead, each one stiffened on impact, vibrating in the air with a hollow, haunting ring.
There was no room for breath.
Another set of black swords surged forward, even faster than before—an unrelenting storm.