Chapter 63
A thunderous explosion ripped through the air, sending a figure hurtling backward like a ragdoll thrown by the storm. The collapsing building groaned and cracked as debris rained down, but through the choking smoke, two silhouettes emerged—calm, poised, and unyielding.
Ronan staggered forward, blood dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth. Every breath was a struggle. He knew, with painful clarity, that he had no chance of winning this fight. Yet, surrender was not an option. His resolve burned hotter than his battered body.
Before him stood three adversaries—the first was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, but the two were far deadlier. The curly-haired fighter and the black-haired swordsman were masters of their weapons, each movement fluid and precise, their aura crackling with lethal intent.
