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CompanionIn the dim twilight, the sands of Luluhawa Island bore the heavy marks of battle—now stained with blood, now scattered with shards of newly forged glass. Each imprint told a tale of the one-sided combat that unfolded relentlessly between Tōga, the Dragon Slayer, and Blackbeard, a pirate transformed by dark magic into a force of nearly insurmountable strength. Tōga, who had once held his own in countless skirmishes, found himself reduced nearly to a plaything at the hands of his adversary, each of his blows seeming to barely graze Blackbeard, while each counterstrike he suffered felt as if the weight of an entire town—no, a mountain—crashed down upon him.
As the battle wore on, it devolved into something far grimmer than a mere contest of strength; it became a harrowing ordeal of survival. Tōga's every effort to gain the upper hand was effortlessly thwarted by Blackbeard, whose power seemed boundless, fed by a sinister, age-accelerating magic. The disparity between them grew with each passing moment, widening the gulf that separated predator from prey.
Exhaustion clung to Tōga like a second skin, his mana draining rapidly into the ravenous sands that drank his vitality eagerly. The brutal realization that continued aggression—or even passive endurance—would only hasten his demise weighed heavily upon his spirit. Yet, amid the looming shadow of defeat, a stubborn spark of resolve flickered still within him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tōga pushed his battered body upright, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, dislocated in the fervor of combat.
As the battle wore on, it devolved into something far grimmer than a mere contest of strength; it became a harrowing ordeal of survival. Tōga's every effort to gain the upper hand was effortlessly thwarted by Blackbeard, whose power seemed boundless, fed by a sinister, age-accelerating magic. The disparity between them grew with each passing moment, widening the gulf that separated predator from prey.
Exhaustion clung to Tōga like a second skin, his mana draining rapidly into the ravenous sands that drank his vitality eagerly. The brutal realization that continued aggression—or even passive endurance—would only hasten his demise weighed heavily upon his spirit. Yet, amid the looming shadow of defeat, a stubborn spark of resolve flickered still within him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tōga pushed his battered body upright, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, dislocated in the fervor of combat.
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