...From beneath a mountain of shattered stone and burning rock, a low chuckle echoed, deep and mocking.
Uriel rose, golden blood still dripping from the corner of his mouth, wings torn but his poise untouched.
The rubble crumbled around him like dust, and he dusted his palm across his chest where one of Enel's slashes had nearly cleaved his armor.
"Impressive," Uriel said, voice smooth, almost amused. "Very impressive."
He floated higher, locking eyes with Enel whose breathing was calm but tense, his sword still pointed forward, unwavering.
Uriel smirked.
"You can learn a lot about a person from the way he fights… And in every blow you landed, I could feel it—you are scarred, child. Deeply."
Enel's expression darkened, jaw tightening.
His grip on the hilt shifted slightly.
"I'm not scarred," he said coldly.
Uriel tilted his head, as if studying him.
"Then why didn't you end it?" he asked softly. "You had me. One more strike—just one—and I wouldn't be standing."
