The void around the four fighters chilled, and the shield broke like a brittle metallic board forgotten in the Arctic its southern counterpart for decades. The sword that had been going for Lucas's throat lost its support, making it miss the mark and tilt downward, passing through the empty space between Lucas's raised arm and his open chest.
His golden eyes remained fixed on the yellow eyes across, before he suddenly propelled himself to the right, into the chest of the Macan whose sword just suffered from misfortune.
*Crack~ BOOMMM!!!*
