Across the room, Nyra was a whirlwind of shadow and precision.
Her blade carved through one elite creature's torso, separating it cleanly in half. The thing collapsed.
But even as it fell, two more converged on her position.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
Blade-arms struck her shadow constructs in rapid succession, each impact releasing shockwaves that cracked the floor beneath them. She deflected, redirected, counterattacked, but they were learning her patterns, adapting to her movements.
One caught her with a glancing blow across her shoulder. Blood sprayed, and for the first time, her expression shifted. Not pain. Irritation.
"Persistent," she muttered.
She spun, shadows expanding outward in a dome that engulfed both creatures, but outside that dome, three more standard corrupted figures were attempting to flank her position, trying to break through to reach Alaric.
Young master is engaged. I cannot—
One of the elite creatures inside her shadow dome punched through it.
