In both of his showdowns against the White Dwarf, Burn found himself in quite the pickle. Relying on his inal Force Magic style? Fet it.
The White Dwarf’s le on had an accuracy that could make a sharpshooter weep, powered by an impressive ensemble of people, spaceships, and AI. Quite the party, wasn't it?
Burn’s magic thrived oimacy of close and mid-range bat. Precision, timing, and tering teiques were his life’s blood. But against this ridiculous le threat, you could say the whole dynamic of battle took a dramatic turn—like a bad plot twist.
His ability to domi close quarters, trolling proximity, fast rea and battlefield space ma? Well, the thing was, the White Dwarf wasn’t just powerful; it was also intelligent, having the ability to anticipate his every move and shutting down his typical tactics like a bou a club.
Simply overp the oppos like he used to with his physiagical force was a bit out of reach at the time.
But Burn adapted. Abs energy from the attacks became his new favorite pastime. As the war dragged on, he figured he’d better expand his rao cover the expanding war.
Ehe evolution of his style: aerial le swordsmanship. This twist gave his magic the read versatility he o bat an oppohat was basically pying a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole.
Of course, that stant targeting and the requisite dance moves disrupted the rhythm of his inal style. How charming. Burn’s once-reliable strategies of closing gaps and trolling spaow felt like trying to take a nap in a rock cert—utterly pointless in the face of those precise le attacks.
Every brave attempt to close in for the kill was met with the kind of accuracy that would leave even the most optimistian in despair.
But his evolution allowed him to flip the script, cleverly overing the limitations of his inal style.
Well, it certainly wasn’t a limitation in the first pce, was it? If he’d only possessed the strength he has now, any oppo—no matter how precise, far-flung, or elusive—would have been nothing more than a fleeting annoyanbsp;
After all, being faster, stronger, and utterly uable has its perks. He was still a whirlwind of chaos—only, you know, a very well-aimed chaos.
Precise, ruthless, and undeniably dominating, he had found the sweet spot where he didn’t have to promise his style. Adaptation? Pssh, that’s for the weak. That’s the past now.
Why dilute a masterpiece when you could simply overpower everything in your path?
CLASH!!!
Thus, returning to a one-otle like this was the best way to test it. The moment he cshed ons with Isaiah, a thrill coursed through him; this was going to be great.
“Hah!” Isaiah snorted. “How art thou but a mere mortal?!”
“It seems my expectations fons are too high,” Burn replied, a sneer pying on his lips.
Isaiah, though aced to dominance, faltered, narrowing his reptiliahis man—this human—bore a strength that posed a genuine challenge. How could he acquire a body parable in strength to a dragon like him? His grip tightened around the spear, its tip gleaming in the dim light.
Burn lunged first, like a storm, his longsword sshing through the air. Isaiah pivoted, sidestepping and delivering a swift thrust of his spear. The bde met the spear’s shaft with a resounding G, the shock reverberating up his arms.
“Kgh!” Isaiah gritted his teeth, but also grinned.
“A little more effort, perhaps?” Burn teased, pushing back with surprising force—a mere flick of the wrist sent Isaiah stumbling.
With a growl, Isaiah regained his footing. He pivoted and unleashed a series of swift thrusts, spear darting like a striking serpent toward Burn’s exposed side. Burn was quick, parrying each thrust with calcuted grace, letting the spear slide off his bde, the metal singing defiantly as they danced.
The effect of their fight might not have been visible, as even a tained spar like this also required greater strength.
“Is this your idea of finesse?” Burn quipped as he tered, swinging his sword horizontally. It sliced through the air, aiming for Isaiah's midse. An agile roll saved him, but it was a futile move; Burn followed swiftly, the long bde curving like water’s flow.
“Too predictable dost thou rehyself!” Isaiah retorted, thrusting upward as he regained baesting the waters with another rapid-fire series of jabs, faking high and then targeting low.
Burn blocked each blow, wit matg on. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that,” he said, feet shuffling as he worked to ter the onsught, his longsword dang in a deadly arc. “But brains don’t win battles alone.”
Isaiah smirked, sweeping his spear low to trip Burn, but the man leaped gracefully, spinning to deliver a bad strike.
CLASH!!!
“Art thou out of breath yet?” Isaiah taunted, knowing full well how this was going to end.
“Too bad,” Burn chuckled. “It seems we met too te. Just a couple of weeks ago, we could’ve had an equal opportunity to win.”
G!!!
Suddenly, their o longer sounded as crisp. Isaiah’s spear was knocked back—
“Thou growest ever more audacious, Son of Arthur!”
It lit sed, but suddenly, bck scales erupted across Isaiah's skin. Those scales were not mere decorations; they were the heralds of his transformation, glistening darkly uhe pallid light, as if the shadows themselves were peeling away to reveal a creature of nightmares.
Matg his burgeoning stature, which was almost 8 feet now—frankly, just enough to make the average doorway feel like an obstacle course—his spear seemed to have taken some performanhang steroids.
It elongated and thied, transf from a mere on into an absurdly rge extension of his very will.
Isaiah’s eyes glowed amber, burning with a sm iy that could rival a campfire on a chilly night. They emitted trails of smoke-like mana, swirling and curling in zy patterns.
At that moment, he looked less like a man and more like an a myth e to life. But, as the scales settled and the spark in his gaze turned from chaotimanding, it was clear that this was more than just a show.
“Thou st not cim to have battled a dragon without indeed tending with one,” Isaiah smirked.
Burn shook his head. “Transform or shapeshift all you want. It won’t ge a thing.”
