Miles charged, and the Master met him.
Their clash sent shockwaves through the shifting battlefield. The scythe's blade, now humming with temporal energy, carved through the air with a ghostly afterimage trailing behind each arc. The Master's counter was just as swift, his bare hands and his movements refined to the point of inhuman precision. Every step he took seemed measured, his strikes deliberate, but Miles was no longer playing catch-up.
He could feel it now, the pull of time itself – even though he was not able to use it for more than a few fractions of second at a time.