Sanctuary: Safe Haven

Canna turned around slowly, his senses on high alert. The air around him was thick with tension, and every fiber of his being screamed that he was in danger. His eyes narrowed as he saw three figures emerge from the shadows. The one in the middle, shrouded in a dark aura, stepped forward, its voice cold and unforgiving.

"Intruder," the figure hissed, its voice like the scrape of metal on stone. "You will die."

Without warning, the figure seemed to vanish from its spot, moving with a speed that defied comprehension. Canna barely had time to react. His instincts took over, and in an instant, he teleported using a lightning spell, narrowly avoiding a fist that would have shattered his skull.

The figure reappeared where Canna had been standing a fraction of a second before, its fist crashing into the stone wall behind him with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing through the solid rock. Canna's eyes widened as he realized just how fast his opponent was.

Even with his enhanced dragonkin senses, the figure moved like a blur, faster than anything he'd encountered before—except, perhaps, Flora. This was no ordinary opponent; this was a true-calamity rank, a step below the demigod tier.

And if this one was that powerful, Canna didn't need to guess that the other two were likely true-calamity ranks as well.

As if confirming his thoughts, the figure on the left summoned a sword, its blade shimmering with deadly intent. Just like its companion, the sword-wielder vanished from sight, reappearing in front of Canna with the blade already slicing toward his neck. The speed and precision of the attack left Canna with no time to dodge.

But before the sword could connect, a wall of vines erupted from the ground, spiraling upward to form a protective barrier around Canna. The vines writhed and coiled, absorbing the force of the sword strike and holding firm against the onslaught. A crimson portal shimmered behind Canna, and from it emerged two more figures, their presence immediately shifting the tide of battle.

Grimruk, the black orc, stepped out first, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the battlefield. In his left hand, he held a massive battle axe, its edges gleaming wickedly in the dim light. In his right hand, a halberd as large as he was rested comfortably, as if it were merely an extension of his own body.

The ground trembled with each step he took, his eyes burning with a fierce determination as he sized up the enemies before him.

Right behind Grimruk came another figure, equally imposing but with a more refined air about him. Vorgrim, a Voragon, from a race of legendary warriors, stepped out with his greatsword resting across his shoulders. His muscles rippled under his skin, and the sharpness of his blade seemed to cut through the very air around him.

Vorgrim's eyes were calm, calculated, as he assessed the situation with a cold, tactical mind.

Canna felt a surge of confidence as his two most powerful warriors flanked him. The appearance of Grimruk and Vorgrim was nothing short of spectacular, their very presence radiating power and dominance. They stood as an impenetrable wall between Canna and the three enemies, their expressions promising only one outcome—total annihilation of those who dared to stand against their master.

The sword-wielding figure didn't hesitate, launching itself at Grimruk with a flurry of strikes that would have overwhelmed any ordinary opponent. But Grimruk was no ordinary warrior. He met each attack head-on, his battle axe and halberd moving in a deadly dance of steel.

Every clash of their weapons sent shockwaves through the chamber, the sheer force of their battle shaking the very foundations of the dungeon.

Vorgrim, meanwhile, took on the other figure, who had summoned a massive spear. The two clashed with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation. Vorgrim's greatsword moved with the precision of a master swordsman, parrying the spear thrusts with ease. The ground beneath them cracked and shattered as they exchanged blow after blow, neither giving an inch.

Flora, who had emerged from the portal alongside Grimruk and Vorgrim, stepped forward to face the remaining figure. Her eyes glowed with a fierce determination as she summoned her vines once more, lashing out with a force that could crush boulders. The figure dodged and weaved through the attacks, but Flora's control over the battlefield was absolute.

With every step her opponent took, more vines erupted from the ground, cutting off escape routes and tightening the noose around them.

The battle was intense, each side pushing the other to their limits. Canna, however, couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Despite the overwhelming power of his subordinates, the three enemies were holding their ground with frightening ease. The speed and skill with which they fought were unlike anything he had ever encountered.

As the battle raged on, it became clear that Canna and his team were being pressed harder than ever before. Grimruk and Vorgrim were powerful, but the sword-wielder was relentless, its strikes coming faster and faster, each one more precise than the last. Grimruk's brute strength allowed him to parry and block most of the attacks, but the sheer speed of his opponent was starting to wear him down.

Vorgrim, too, was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with the spear-wielder's relentless assault.

Flora, for all her mastery over nature, was struggling against an opponent who seemed to move like a ghost, slipping through her vines as if they were nothing more than mist. Her every attempt to trap the figure was met with failure, and it was only through her quick reflexes and powerful magic that she managed to avoid being struck down.

Canna himself was locked in a deadly dance with the figure in the middle. This one was clearly the leader, its movements calculated and precise, as if it had fought a thousand battles and emerged victorious from every one. Canna dodged and countered as best he could, but the sheer speed and power of his opponent left him with little room to maneuver.

The tide of battle was turning, and not in their favor. Canna's team was being pushed to the brink, and for the first time, Canna felt the weight of true despair. These weren't ordinary enemies—they were something else entirely, something powerful, and they were slowly but surely overwhelming his best warriors and him.

Canna gritted his teeth, knowing that he had no choice. He had to go all out, or they would all fall here. With a deep breath, he summoned a weapon he had hoped to never use—the Bloodfang Scythe.

The moment the scythe appeared in his hands, the entire atmosphere of the battlefield changed. The weapon radiated an aura of death and destruction, its crimson blade gleaming with a malevolent energy. The air around it seemed to warp and twist, as if reality itself was bending to its will.

The three enemies paused for a split second, their eyes locking onto the scythe in Canna's hands. It was a weapon of unparalleled power, a weapon meant to kill without mercy, and its presence alone was enough to give even these strange warriors a pause.

Canna's eyes blazed with determination as he gripped the scythe tightly. The time for holding back was over. He had to end this, and he had to do it now.

With a fierce battle cry, Canna lunged forward, the Bloodfang Scythe slicing through the air with a speed and precision that left no room for error. The time for games was over. It was time to kill.

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