He kept his feet light, ready to step back, ready to vanish again.
The basilisk's muscles tensed.
The jaw angled.
The tail shifted behind like it was preparing to sweep.
Kael's mind measured angles the way it always did now. If it bit, where did he go If it swept, where did he brace. If the raid broke, how did he escape without getting trampled by panicked allies.
The climbers used the time when the beast was focused on Kael to do a few good hits and run away from the retaliating tail.
They were clumsy but learning. Jab, retreat. Slash, retreat. One man got greedy and lingered too long, and the tail's near miss made him stumble backward with a pale face, suddenly remembering he wasn't immortal. Another managed to wedge a spear point between plates again and twisted, drawing a thicker line of blood that made the basilisk hiss.
Having a good aggro draw was imperative for a successful raid, but Kael wasn't a tank, and he would soon drop dead if he took one clean hit.
