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Roc and Ingram hurled themselves forward, propelled by a pulse of their wings, and met in midair with two kicks swinging, only for their legs to collide like dueling swords. They dropped down to the ground and again went at it, hurling attacks at each other with rapid speed and ferocious power. Their long legs swung wide, their talons capable of gutting each other like fish. Ingram used a similar fighting style to Roc, relying on kicks imbued with slashing talons, but just as Roc was skilled in the technique, so too was he accustomed to defeating it, having fought countless eagle warriors back home like himself.

Noah piloted his clone, having it dodge the oncoming storm of attacks. He could have easily beheaded them from behind, ending their life with their final moments being fear and confusion, but he wanted to study his opponent. The more skilled they were, the more useful an asset they might be. Common trash could be executed, but it would be a waste to kill a potential ally. This warrior was fast and experienced, blending their rapid and complex movements perfectly. Yet, despite their skill, Noah kept his clone out of their range.

“I don't have any to give—it really just depends,” I shrugged and giggled. “I pretty much always just let him go at his own pace now, but I've learned to kind of enjoy that final stretch he gives me when he's popping out, even if it still hurts a little. It's up to you.”