The leader pressed forward, every swing of his blade tearing the floor apart in shambles.
Azhriel met each strike with threads that hardened like blades, but even reinforced with frost, they trembled with every clash.
Cracks ran across the tiles beneath his feet.
Another slash came down—a black arc of fire.
Azhriel's body blurred.
The attack cleaved through empty air.
Space folded around him, a ripple so faint it was almost invisible, and he appeared several meters to the side, threads already lashing out.
Blink.
The last remaining Adept warrior to his right didn't even have time to react. A thin silver line appeared across his neck, and then blood. The man fell soundlessly.
The leader's eyes widened.
"Space…" he hissed.
Only two left.
The leader.
And the boy.
The room was littered with broken bodies, blood soaking the cracked tiles.
For the first time, the Adept+ leader looked unsettled.
