The four of them found refuge in the dark, cavernous hold of a derelict cargo ship in the quietest part of the port. The air was thick with the smell of rust and stagnant water, but it was defensible.
Elisa immediately took first watch, perching on the ship's railing like a gargoyle with a warhammer, her eyes scanning the dark city. Mela was tending to a small cut on Serian's arm, her movements practiced and efficient.
Nox sat on a pile of old, rotted rope, his mind a whirlwind. One hundred stat points. A Legendary Skill Box. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, if Christmas involved brutal, life-or-death combat.
'Okay, Liona. Let's do this.'
His new, sleek black interface appeared. 'Allocate points. Strength and Endurance are good, but I need more speed. Ragnar was slow, but the next one might not be. And I need more gas in the tank. The Dominion is a mana-hog.'
