Neo didn't wait for the next pulse.
He moved on instinct—on trust.
The moment the core dimmed, he surged forward, boots barely touching the unstable surface beneath him. The Sword of Light flared brighter in his grip, its glow no longer just illumination, but intent.
Behind him, the others followed.
Not hesitating.
Not holding back.
The entity reacted instantly.
The storm shifted again, its lattice tightening into sharper, denser lines. This time, the pattern adapted mid-flight, adjusting trajectories in response to their movement.
But it wasn't enough.
Because they weren't moving like before.
"Left!" Lira called.
Neo veered without thinking.
A shard-line sliced through where he would have been—but Beatrix was already there, her blade catching the edge of the attack and deflecting it just enough to disrupt its path.
