The air inside the dry, pressurized cylinder of vacuum crackled with heat. The heavy-armored Clover Knight lowered his massive, double-edged greatsword, the tip hovering inches above the stone seabed. Concentrated golden light flowed along the etched runes of his plate armor, humming with an oppressive, metallic resonance.
"You speak no name, yet you reek of abyssal corruption," the knight said, his pale metallic eyes narrowing as he took a slow, heavy step forward. "I am **Commander Sir Gareth**, Third Blade of the Fifth Fleet. By the authority of the Clover Council, your existence ends here."
Kyle didn't bother responding with words. His teeth were slick with dark blood, and every pulse of his shadow channels felt like hot needles sliding beneath his skin. But behind his eyes, a cold, calculated stillness took over.
*Snow,* Kyle called out internally, shifting his weight onto his back foot. *Target analysis.*
