The crushing weight of Arch-Mage Oberon's Tier-6 Spatial Lock bore down like a falling mountain. The blue crystal veins along the cavern ceiling shattered into glittering dust, replaced by the suffocating indigo hum of a high-tier containment matrix.
Floorstones buckled under Kyle's boots. His dark demonic scales groaned beneath the atmospheric pressure, but he didn't yield an inch. Holding Yua's hand, he felt the rapid, rhythmic pulse of her blood core racing in lockstep with his own—a shared rhythm forged by the blood-bond they had sealed hours before.
"You can still fight?" Kyle asked through gritted teeth, his breath rising in dark, smoky wisps.
Yua squeezed his hand tightly, her crimson-glass blades flickering with a wild, hungry light. "With you? Always."
"Good," Kyle growled. "Snow, analyze the spatial anchor!"
