They tensed their bodies aggressively as they tried to gather the fleeing guards around them.
"Don't panic! Gather the weapons! And hold the lines!" the largest of them shrieked in his rough dialect, his body pulsing with a violent light.
But of course, shouting like this was akin to openly inviting the enemy to kill.
And Sol wasn't gonna miss this chance, he didn't even let him finish the command and blurred through the smoke, covering the twenty-pace gap before the captain could even register his presence.
He pulled deeply at the cold, viscous silver liquid sitting stagnant within his chest cavity.
His right hand flipped the Dreadwing Blade out of its leather scabbard. The sapphire edge hummed with a quiet ZIIING that was completely swallowed by the roaring fires in the east.
And executed a clean, horizontal diagonal cut.
