Hana, pointed with two threads. "Lets go up the catwalk."
We climbed. The catwalk's grating chewed noise into a thousand small clicks—good for us, bad for anyone trying to sneak. The east wind came mean for a minute, brought a taste of salt and something that wasn't sea. Mana. Rot. The Gate humming in the bones of the city.
A new sound—metal dragged over metal, then a pop like a lung turning inside out.
Hana hissed, "Down!"
We dropped. A bolt of condensed slag punched where my head had been and sizzled a hole through the railing, through the barge below, and into the black water beyond. The canal shrieked when it met the heat—no real physics in it; just pain pretending to be liquid.
Ash Orc Gunner. Ugly kind. Taller, plated shoulder. Brass vents along the spine.
[Encounter — Elite Variant Detected]
[Class: Ash Orc Gunner (A-)]
[Threat Assessment: High • Effective Range: 50 m • Payload Type: Slag Bolt]
"Mine," I said.
[Lightning Transit — Hop 2 / 7]
