Rhys barely had time to breathe.
Zenith stepped again—no sound, no motion blur, just gone and then there, like the shadows themselves had placed him.
Another slash came down.
Rhys blocked—
CLAAAAAAANG!!
His knees buckled.
The ground cratered beneath him.
From the booth, Fate practically screamed into the mic:
"ZENITH ISN'T EVEN WARMED UP YET!! RHYS IS GETTING HIT WITH MOVES THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST!!"
Dreamer added dryly,
"Textbook assassination speed. Rhys is lucky to be alive."
"STOP COMMENTATING MY NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCES!" Rhys yelled while being thrown backward again.
He rolled, skidding across the floor, and barely stopped himself from hitting the barrier a second time.
Zenith walked toward him—
Calm.
Cold.
Relentless.
Every step cracked the stone.
Rhys scrambled up, panting.
"Okay, think—think—THINK—!"
His blade pulsed.
The Ruinous Darkness Blade vibrated like a heartbeat.
More.
Push more.
Give more.
Rhys yelled at it,
