The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5652

Both combatants staggered backward, eyes locked, neither willing to surrender even a heartbeat of caution.

"Jared traded a quick glance with Sylvia. Resolve flared between them like flint against steel.

They understood without words that only perfect unity could carve a path out of these treacherous ruins."

"Ms. Vale, flank him—left and right—strike before he resets," Jared breathed, each syllable clipped, decisive.

Sylvia answered with a sharp nod. Her slender sword quivered, releasing a flash of icy glare. "Understood!"

"They sprang apart like twin bolts of lightning.

Jared blazed to the right, his aura swelling into a miniature sun that scorched the shadows, while Sylvia vaulted left, a swallow in mid-winter, blade poised for the heart."

The unknown guardian sneered, flicking through hand seals faster than candlelight can tremble, muttering words that tasted of sulfur.

Instantly, the surrounding gloom thickened, birthing jagged spears of shadow that shot toward both attackers in a murderous storm.

Jared's eyes hardened. He shoved both palms forward, and a colossal shield of molten gold erupted, swallowing every oncoming spike with a hiss of steam.

At the same time, Sylvia slipped through the gaps, her footwork feather-light. The sword traced a silver arc—beautiful, merciless—driving straight for the guardian's chest.

He pivoted, cloak swirling, dodging by a whisper. His counter came as a sweeping wave of black energy that howled toward Sylvia like a broken stormfront.

Sylvia tapped the flagstones, body drifting backward as lightly as falling snow, the sinister tide crashing harmlessly where she had stood an instant earlier.

A ripple of mocking laughter broke from the shadows beneath the stranger's hood. Moonlight caught the curve of his hidden mouth, revealing the upward twist of a cruel, knowing smile. "Is that truly the limit of your talent?" he sneered, every syllable sharpened to a taunt.

Jared answered with a clipped, contemptuous breath—half snort, half warning, the sound of flint striking steel. "Don't celebrate just yet," he said, voice low but thrumming with promise.

"Jared's hands blurred through labyrinthine patterns, each fingertip leaving a pale streak that lingered in the night air. Ancient syllables, heavy as stone tablets, rolled from his tongue.

The air convulsed around him. Strings of golden runes spilled from his chest, weaving above the battlefield until they formed a vast golden array that pulsed like a mechanical sun."

"A thunderclap seemed to answer him.

"Go!" he roared, flinging the newborn array toward his foe."

The golden array surged forward like a tidal wave of hammered light, bearing down on the hooded stranger with planetary weight.

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