Heavy rain pours, torrential rain buckets down.
Under the densely clouded sky, a terrifyingly gloomy atmosphere envelops the entire valley.
Dressed in white, White Mitchell exudes a snowy gentleness, his gaze determined and sharp. He stands at the edge of a cliff, bathing in the torrential rain, steadfastly confronting Moore, ready for a fight.
Moore is robust, radiating a dreadful murderous aura.
His hair is like a black waterfall, his dancing black robe making him look like a devil in the darkness. His gaze is indifferent, devoid of any emotions, only filled with disdain and ridicule for White Mitchell.
"White Mitchell, even if you hide your strength, it's futile," Moore sneered, "Watching you is like watching an insignificant ant, entirely unimpressive!"
A faint smile appeared at the corner of White Mitchell's mouth, his eyes flickering with unwavering determination. "Moore, try not to be too arrogant."