Her face was ashen. She swayed, barely staying upright by leaning on her Longbow as she gasped for breath.
Sweat soaked the hair on her forehead, and the Power within her body drained away like a receding tide. A profound sense of weakness washed over her.
But the crisis was far from over.
Her act of killing one of their own seemed to have enraged the remaining enemies.
They all stopped attacking their other targets at once. Their "faces"—featureless, save for a burning, ember-like glow—swiveled in unison to "stare" at the exhausted Avril.
The sensation of being targeted by several cold, inhuman wills sent a shiver down Avril's spine.
Two of the enemies' arms morphed back into dangerously sharp forms as they advanced on her with steady, menacing steps.
Duraga roared, trying to rush to her aid, but another enemy held him back.
Galvis frantically plucked at his strings, but could no longer conjure any effective interference.
