The battlefield was a storm of broken earth and swirling dust, the drake's presence tearing through the silence that had once cloaked the sixth floor's entrance.
Its massive wings flared, unsettling debris with each beat, while its slitted eyes stayed locked on Fenrir.
Fenrir stood calmly, analyzing every twitch, every breath the beast took.
A calm wind curled around him, drawn in by the Vortex of Wind now settled into his core. His heart thudded slowly—measured. Focused.
The drake moved first.
With a roar, it swept forward, claws flashing and energy humming along its spine. Fenrir activated Master of Illusion, and in an instant, the air distorted.
The creature blinked, and suddenly, five copies of Fenrir surrounded it.
The drake lashed out, slamming its tail through two illusions, then spinning and biting at a third. Each strike missed or passed through nothing.
Fenrir watched from the far side of the clearing, hidden among the copies.
