The battlefield had long since lost any semblance of solid footing. Deep fissures snaked across the once-stable ground, a web of devastation carved by the relentless clash of power. Iskayna's breaths came in ragged intervals, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
The monster before her—an amorphous titan of shifting scythe-like limbs—dripped thick green ichor onto the ground, its wounds sealing as swiftly as she inflicted them. No matter how many times she and her Diwa struck, it continued to regenerate, feeding on the violence of their battle as if it thrived in endless conflict.