As the remaining champions took a moment to recover, Anthony sat beneath the shade of a parasol, leisurely observing their every move.
His demeanor remained calm, almost indifferent, with not a single trace of caution in his piercing gaze.
He watched as they skillfully drew mana from the air, channeling it into their cores with a precision that bordered on mastery.
Their speed was nothing short of remarkable, the ambient energy bending to their will as though it were a natural extension of their bodies.
None bore any visible injuries requiring attention; instead, their focus remained on replenishing their depleted mana and stamina reserves.
Yet, curiously, they refrained from fully restoring themselves.
Each champion stopped just shy of reaching their peak, maintaining a razor-thin margin.
This deliberate choice served a purpose, they sought to preserve their heightened battle awareness, a state forged in the crucible of combat.
To recover completely would risk dulling that edge, a lapse that could cost them even a single percentage of their combat efficiency.
Such a loss, however marginal, was a risk they could ill afford.
As they recovered, their eyes never left one another.
Suspicion lingered in their guarded glances, a silent contest of vigilance as they awaited the first to make a move.
Then, as if compelled by an unseen arbiter of fate, all three opened their eyes in unison.
Their movements were slow, deliberate, as they rose to their feet.
The tension in the air grew thick, their gazes locking midair in a moment of palpable intensity.
Yet, despite their wariness of one another, their attention briefly flicked to Anthony.
There he sat, reclined beneath the parasol, his posture unbothered, his expression unreadable.
However, the champions had no time to dwell on him now.
Their focus returned to each other, and without a word, mana and aura began to radiate from their bodies in waves, saturating the battlefield with an oppressive energy.
The ground beneath their feet cracked and sank as the sheer weight of their power distorted the terrain.
In the blink of an eye, they vanished.
Vahalin struck first, his sword a blur of lethal intent as it sliced through the air with a sharp, whistling sound.
The blade moved with deadly precision, aiming to cleave Kaelthar in a single stroke.
The air itself seemed to recoil from the force, splitting apart in the wake of his attack.
But Kaelthar was ready.
His sabre met the strike head-on, a collision of raw power and refined technique.
Sparks erupted as steel clashed against steel, the sound echoing like a war cry across the battlefield.
The other champions followed suit, vanishing into the chaos to engage their chosen opponents.
Taeron, meanwhile, had no intention of relinquishing his War Physique, the transformation shimmering faintly around him.
It was a gift he could wield without effort, demanding neither mana nor stamina to sustain.
Taeron's immense form moved with surprising fluidity, his immense limbs cutting through the air as his first strike, a devastating straight punch, blasted towards Anthony's head.
The sheer force behind it threatened to tear through the very air itself, yet Anthony's movements were seamless, as though time had slowed for him.
His body swayed like the breeze, sidestepping with minimal effort, his palm extending to redirect the massive blow away from his face.
Taeron's fist collided with the empty space just beside him, the force vibrating the ground beneath their feet.
Anthony's eyes never lost their calm as he surged forward, his foot connecting with the Titan's side in a quick and clean motion.
Taeron grunted, the strike landing with an audible thud against the hardened flesh of his torso, but there was no sign of true damage.
The blow was momentary, quickly absorbed by the Titan's vast physique.
Yet the reaction it elicited was enough to show that Taeron felt the sting, his posture momentarily faltering.
Undeterred, Taeron's other hand swung around, a vicious backfist aiming for Anthony's chest.
But Anthony was already gone, as though he'd never been there.
His form danced to the side, flowing into a perfect arc, his fingers darting out to graze the inside of Taeron's exposed arm.
The strike was more of a disruption than a full blown attack, but it rattled Taeron's coordination.
Taeron's body staggered briefly, but in an instant, he reasserted his dominance, planting his foot firmly and lunging forward with a deadly series of quick jabs.
Each blow was a test of precision, each punch aimed for a specific target, the ribs, the stomach, the temples.
His speed was no longer merely a factor of strength but of sheer, unyielding force, each movement fueled by the vastness of his physicality.
Anthony was unfazed, his calm composure never wavering.
As the Titan's punches rained down, Anthony danced around them.
A shift of his body to the left, a turn of his shoulder to deflect the force of a punch.
His movements were more akin to a windstorm than a warrior's fight, a graceful ballet in a world built of raw muscle and thunderous power.
Every blow Taeron struck, Anthony avoided with calculated precision, his own body in constant motion, adapting to the rhythm of his opponent's onslaught.
His palm extended outward as one of Taeron's wide arcs came crashing toward him, redirecting the blow with a delicate but powerful push.
The force was immense, but Anthony stood unwavering, like an immovable rock.
His other hand shot forward, grasping Taeron's massive wrist, and with a sudden twist, Anthony executed a flawless joint lock that momentarily trapped the Titan's arm.
But Taeron was not one to be so easily contained.
With a snarl, he ripped his arm free, his other hand delivering a punishing backfist.
Anthony, expecting the retaliation, slipped underneath the blow, his own knee rising in an upward strike toward the Titan's abdomen.
It was a sharp, controlled motion, more subtle than the explosive nature of Taeron's strikes, but no less effective.
The knee landed squarely against the Titan's midsection, pushing the massive fighter back a step.
There was no visible sign of pain on Taeron's face, but the staggered movement was enough to show that even the colossal figure was affected.
Yet, like the mountain he was, Taeron regained his balance with an effortless grace.
His back foot planted firmly, and with the intensity of a stampede, he surged forward once more, his fists becoming a blur of relentless strikes.
Each punch was a war in and of itself. Taeron's speed and strength now intermingled, creating a storm of blows that threatened to overwhelm even the most seasoned fighter.
But Anthony was no mere seasoned fighter; he was a tactician, a master of both mind and body.
His limbs seemed to flow like water, each turn and dodge more graceful than the last.
With a swift and sudden pivot, Anthony slid behind Taeron's colossal form, his body slipping between the Titan's limbs with the finesse of a predator.
A blow came crashing toward his back, Taeron's fist moving with the speed of a striking serpent, but Anthony dropped to a crouch, allowing the fist to soar harmlessly over his head.
In that same motion, his body coiled like a spring, rising up and twisting with such force that his shoulder collided with the Titan's ribs in a vicious but controlled strike.
Taeron grunted, but Anthony's aim was not to injure.
The force of the blow shifted Taeron's body slightly, off balance for only a fraction of a second.
That instant was all Anthony needed.
His foot lashed out with deadly precision, landing a clean kick to Taeron's back, pushing the massive fighter forward.
The Titan stumbled briefly, but his power never faltered.
Taeron, though momentarily out of rhythm, recovered with a speed that betrayed his size.
His massive hands reached forward, grabbing for Anthony, but the man was already gone.
Anthony's body was a blur as he leapt backwards, his feet barely touching the ground before he planted himself back on the balls of his feet, crouched low, and ready for the next exchange.
The two titans stood, gazes unwavering, their breath steady and controlled, not a single sign of weariness or injury on either of their bodies.
Taeron's stance shifted, widening as he prepared for another onslaught, while Anthony, his posture calm, his mind serene, waited, knowing that the battle had only just begun.
There was no exhaustion, no sign of their bodies yielding to the battle; only the pulse of combat, the clash of two primal forces locked in a dance that seemed endless.
Taeron lunged again, his hands now moving with a speed and ferocity that could shatter mountains.
His every strike was designed to break through Anthony's defenses, to hammer him into submission, yet with each attack,
Anthony's counter was faster, more refined.
A brush of the hand here, a twist of the torso there, every move both a dance and a deadly calculation.
In this world of steel, muscle, and will, there would be no victor, for they were both titans in their own right.
A battle without end, where mastery of the body transcended the need for victory.
This was not a fight for supremacy, it was an expression of two beings at the pinnacle of their craft at their level, locked in a moment that would stretch into minds of those watching.