The Lich King raised its staff, the soul-trapped crystal on top pulsing with a nauseating blue light, and the very air on the bridge grew thick and cold. "You face a master of the arcane arts, little elf, your divine light is but a candle against my storm."
Serian did not reply, she simply took a ready stance, her sword held in both hands as her golden aura intensified, casting long, stark shadows across the bridge.
"Then let the storm break."
The Lich King flicked its wrist. The polished black stone of the bridge rippled, and a dozen skeletal arms erupted from the surface, their bony fingers grasping for Serian's ankles. At the same time, a volley of spectral skulls shot forward, not in a straight line, but in a corkscrew pattern designed to bypass a simple frontal defense.
'A pincer attack from two different planes,' Nox thought, his new combat senses analyzing the engagement. 'He's testing her, trying to overwhelm her focus.'
