Dyon's battle prowess dipped, but his battle intent blazed, nonetheless. In fact, the flames and lightning that coated his body seemed to grow more intense, as though they were resonating with his more primal, vicious approach.
Emytheus' and Dyon's elbows and knees met through the air, the sound of their shattering bones completely overshadowed by the booming cacophonies of their resonating strikes.
Neither flinched for even a moment.
Palm met fist. Leg met elbow. Forehead met forehead.
Emytheus' golden-brown eyes stared toward Dyon's closed eyelids as though to draw a line of fire through his skull.
Their clashing heads rebounded, Dyon's hands reaching out through space to grab Emytheus' neck.
Emytheus clenched a fist, bombarding Dyon's torso with three quick strikes that completely deformed his ribcage.
Dyon's forearm flexed, crushing Emytheus' neck completely.