grootslang bg3

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.

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Roc was narrowly holding his own, but he realized the battle couldn’t be decided on the ground. He pulled away from Ingram and flapped his wings, taking to the sky with his nemesis chasing after him. They flew laps around the arena, colliding and exchanging blows in midair. The audience raised their eyes and fingers to the sky, watching the airborne battle in shock and awe. Both feathers and blood were shed with each collision, with talons ripping through flesh and punches landing with devastating force. Over and over, it seemed like they would crash into the stands, but by some miracle, they stayed in the air. Higher, they rose, taking their battle above the arena. The tournament no longer mattered, only the battle, and there were no edges in the sky.