We moved as a unit, each of us striking, blocking, warding. The constructs adapted with terrifying speed, shifting, splitting, merging. Their forms flowed like oil in water, each strike I made diverted and twisted, each ward Sophia laid met with counterforce. The river itself rose in small walls around them, curling over the edges of the bridge like serpents coiled to strike, guiding their movement, anticipating ours.
I could feel it now—not just the physical resistance, but something deeper, crawling along the edges of my mind. A tug, subtle, almost polite at first, like a shadow brushing against my thoughts. Then it sharpened. A whisper, soft and pervasive: Give up. You cannot stop me.
My stomach twisted. I staggered back a step, bile rising, but I gritted my teeth and shook it off. "Not yet," I muttered through clenched teeth. "We're not done."
