The rookie beside him froze, staring at the ruins of the thing. Ren grabbed his shoulder. "Move. Stay tight."
More constructs emerged, their bodies twitching unnaturally, eyes glowing faintly with controlled mana. The veterans took point, weapons slicing, dodging, pushing forward with precision. Halvern barked orders, each command precise, concise, survival over style.
Ren felt the pulse of the Hollow beneath his feet, a lingering signature of experiments, of altered mana. His four years of training. The exhaustion, the pain, the discipline gave him an edge. He anticipated the constructs' twitching motions, countered with fluid strikes, guiding the rookie, covering gaps, shutting off panic before it spread.
Nyxa's voice was steady, firm: "Read the currents, Ren. They will tell you the weakness. Do not strike blindly."
