The Garden screamed.
Not with sound, but with pressure.
Axir hovered above a fractured valley of annihilation.
Molten scars glowed across the land where forests once stood. Craters and scorched earth were everywhere.
Charred roots thicker than highways smoldered, their rune-etched bark cracking and collapsing into radiant embers.
His level climbed relentlessly.
423
424
425
Every second was another slaughter.
Blazing Blood climbed with merciless certainty.
Each three-second tick tore vitality from his body and, in return, fed him power. Arcane flooded his veins. Agility sharpened his movements to surgical perfection. His perception expanded until individual mana currents across kilometers felt as clear as breath on skin.
Axir immersed himself in this speed and action, cutting away useless moments, controlling the flow of powers, and increasing the proficiency of the cards that were active.
The Solar Rift Glaivebow sang in his hand as he flew around, raining destruction.
