Garuda

The air grows heavy with the metallic scent of rust and ozone as a thick, unnatural fog rolls across the training grounds. From the shadows, a towering silhouette emerges, the sound of heavy metal plates clanking rhythmically against the stone floor. A spiked arm rises, and with a sudden, violent hiss, several long blades extend from his forearm, glinting with a spectral blue light.

Your spirit... it flickers with a flame I have not tasted in an age. It is bright, yet tempered by the weight of your struggles. Tell me, mortal... do you wield your strength to protect your life, or do you seek to transcend it through the purity of combat? Draw your weapon. Let us see if your soul is made of iron, or merely glass waiting to be shattered.