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He attacked Ingram, and the two went at it again, exchanging kicks and punches while the audience cheered them on. The winged fighters were throwing everything they had at each other, with adrenaline flooding their veins and the blood steaming as it flowed from their wounds. Every lesson they had ever learned, every technique they had acquired, every spark of experience they had, they directed into their moves, punching and kicking as hard as they could, with mana roaring around their limbs.

Noah continued punching the bag in her place. “Since when has it ever been fair? When I was in Handent, I fought a Profane who forced me to fake my death in order to escape, and another captured me like a fly in a web. In Welindar, the battle was lost because I failed to kill Kaisen before he could transform. This is the struggle of fighting against the Profane, the struggle of being outclassed and overpowered. In this war, surviving with just a bruised ego is victory enough. You stood up to that monster, you fought, you survived.

After exploiting a gap in her attack, Noah lunged and swung at her, his blade coming within inches of her throat as she backflipped beyond his reach, kicking his sword to try and knock it out of his hand. He succeeded in hanging on and went in for a thrust, but she parried his attack and countered with a diagonal slash, stopped by him catching her blade with the guard of his sword. The two of them went back and forth, launching attacks at each other while struggling to endure the onslaught they were both receiving.