The hollow erupted in chaos, a storm of movement and sound that seemed to pulse in rhythm with Leo's own heartbeat. Every footstep echoed against the wet soil, every clash of steel rang like cannon fire in the confined space between mist and ancient trees. The forest itself seemed to shiver, branches twisting in unnatural angles as though recoiling from the violence. Fog hung low, thick with the scent of iron and mud, curdling the air into a choking haze.
Steel rang against steel, sparks flying in wild arcs, drifting like fireflies caught in a violent wind. The hunters pressed in from every direction, silent predators with cold precision. Their blades sought tendon, joint, weakness, each movement practiced, lethal, remorseless. They did not fight for honor. They fought to claim, to strip away what was not theirs, to bind the vessel and extinguish all that clung to him.
