Akron's boots slammed into the earth with force, sending cracks spiraling outward.
With a scream of fury, she burst forward again, flinging her broken vine-arm in a wide arc. It unraveled mid-strike, transforming into writhing whips of green liquid stone—like living chains lashing out. The tendrils screamed through the air toward Hephaestus.
Hephaestus raised one palm. A magnetic pulse detonated from her chest, and the vines halted in midair—suspended, jittering, caught in the field. Her expression didn't change.
"Even your ancestral relics are predictable," she said, tone sharp as a blade.
With a flick of her wrist, she reversed the polarity. The vines tore apart, flinging Akron backward—again.
But Akron flipped in midair, blood trailing from her lip. She hit the ground running.
"SHUT UP!"
