I roll Eventide between my fingers. The hilt is warm—warmer than body heat accounts for. The blade knows what's coming.
The difference is immediate. No more Rank-F fodder stumbling over each other to reach the shield wall. The creatures pouring through the gaps in the shattered front line are Coral and Reef—dense, armored, built to take hits and keep moving. In a war, you don't get to pick your enemy.
A second volley of light erupts from Lola's tower. This time a normal shot clears our defensive line by a clean margin and detonates deep in the Tide's backline.
The thundering sound tears across the battlefield and detonates in a concussive wall of heat and pressure that shoves me two steps backward. Forcing my arm up to shield my eyes.
When I lower it, the battlefield has rearranged itself. The Tide's rear formation is a smoking crater. The front is in chaos.
A shape clears the pile of dead and lands six feet in front of me.
Coral Drenodor. Rank D.
