Cerys's breathing snapped into rhythm. Her core pulsed, wind mana surging up her spear arm until it shimmered like a funnel. Then, with a guttural shout, she released it.
Fsshhhhh!
The mist screamed as thirty javelins of compressed air tore into existence, spinning shafts of razor wind forming all around her. With a sharp sweep of her arm, they launched in a hailstorm of killing intent.
The hounds reacted instantly, scattering with blinding speed. Their twisted bodies darted left and right, claws scraping across the ground as they tried to weave through the barrage.
Rhyka didn't even flinch.
Golden threads lit the world before his eyes, painting each javelin's path, each beast's lunge. His body moved in harmony with the lattice, dodging here, ducking there, sliding his spear into gaps so smoothly it was as if the storm itself bent around him.
And then he saw it, the opening.
