The chains were still burning, still holding the perimeter, and the Emperor's Presence was still suppressing everything in range. The remaining three large creatures were moving away from me now, not advancing. The smaller summons had broken entirely, scattering in every direction, some of them running into walls, some of them running into the mercenaries' blades.
Sulin was among them like a scalpel in a wound. Every touch was a death sentence. Her red-veined bloodline ability dismantled the disoriented summons with a clinical efficiency that was almost beautiful, if you were the kind of person who found precision violence beautiful.
Jose's green lances were falling like rain. He'd abandoned the ground-level fighting and was back on his elevated perch, his spear planted beside him, both hands conducting the light constructs with the casual authority of someone directing an orchestra. Each lance found its target. Each target stopped moving.
