The once peaceful night sky was riddled with the wails of the wind and the ferocity of a storm.
The wind shook, propelling itself through the fields, shaking the foundation of the Academy to its core.
It was like a Cyclone, a disaster brought on earth to cause its destruction, and yet, the buildings stood. The foundation of the Academy remained fixed to its ground, and the students were kept safe, contradictory to their predicament.
The source of all this destruction stood on a flying mat, his right arm held firmly on a katana—better still, an odachi.
It glimmered with pristine malevolence, a silvery blade that cast a luminance in the darkness caused by the wind.
Nicho was firm, as he was annoyed.
A figure had found his way through one of his ultimate skills.
Why wouldn't he be annoyed? When an unknown figure had pierced through his domain without him realizing it until it was too late.
