Mio
Her body moved against the pile of green meat.
The Dance decided the timing. Forty years of muscle memory threaded through her nervous system and pulled, and Mio went with it because the alternative was dying under a pile of orcs at ninety-one hit points.
The white pearl gauntlet on her left forearm hit first.
She felt the impact before she registered the motion. An orc's chest caved under her palm, ribs folding inward, and her body was already rotating into the second strike before the first one landed.
The obsidian arm followed and punched clean through the one behind it. Bone fragments sprayed against the orcs on either side.
The third and fourth landed flat-palmed and drove through whatever they touched. The pile that had pinned her scattered outward, bodies launched off her in every direction, and by strike eight she was on her feet with nothing holding her down.
The rest of the Dance happened standing.
