The sound was the shatter-sound.
The same sound as the first guardian, the network of accumulated cracks connecting across the whole structure simultaneously, the form that had been holding together through the damage of four strikes finally resolving the question of whether it could continue to do so.
Debris.
The second golem shattered.
He was already moving through the space the shatter had cleared, the brief zone of open ground that the fallen golem's position had occupied, using the geometry of the shattered golem as the closest thing to cover available in a plainfield without terrain.
Twelve remaining.
He was breathing harder than he had been a minute ago.
The shoulder was decided — it was going to be a problem. Not immediately debilitating. But a factor, the range and power of his right arm's strikes reduced from what they would have been without the hit, the specific consequence of a full-committed golem punch landing cleanly.
He managed it.
