Boris didn't even wait. The moment Creed calmly declared himself ready, a grin the size of a sword slash tore across the man's face.
It was the kind of grin that said, "Finally, now I can stop pretending to be nice." And then—boom.
With a dramatic flick of his wrist and zero hesitation, Boris summoned a pair of heavy, black war axes into his hands.
The moment the weapons appeared, a wave of frost-like black mist spilled out from their gleaming edges, falling onto the arena floor like black smoke from dry ice.
But it wasn't just for show—this black mist gave off a deathly chill that instantly made the temperature drop several degrees.
Some people in the stands even sneezed. These weren't just fancy blades. No, Creed's eyes narrowed the moment he saw them.
Artifacts! What were their effects though?
He had to find that out or victory wouldn't be assured!
For all Creed knew, the axes could steal strength, poison the air, freeze blood, or make his pants fall off—who knows?
