Drake's expression was almost apologetic.
"Sorry. You fought well."
His hands held the compressed magma projectile radiating heat so intense the air warped around it.
Elina stared at the attack, mind racing.
I have no choice.
Her hands moved into a configuration she'd practiced in secret for months. Index and middle fingers extended, ring and pinky curled, thumbs touching.
Her hand pressed to her forehead.
Golden light erupted from the point of contact.
A card materialized between her fingers.
Black as midnight. Golden markings etched across its surface in patterns that seemed to shift and writhe. About the size of a playing card.
Drake's eyes widened. His attack was already launching, when—
"Sever!"
Elina's hand whipped forward. The card left her fingers, spinning through the air like a disc, golden markings blazing bright.
It cut through the compressed magma projectile.
