The shield wall is breaking.
Not in the middle—at the flanks. The Phase Two beasts are heavier than anything the flat formation was designed to absorb, and they're not trying to breach.
They're shoving.
Another Drenodor with the mass of a small truck hits a shield at full stride and the man behind it goes airborne—armor, shield, and all. He lands ten feet back, rolls, gets up. But the gap he left is already filling with teeth.
The backline is scrambling. Healers already overwhelmed with their duties. Support casters overlapping targets. The coordination from Phase One is gone—too many variables changed at once and the chain of command can't keep up.
My fault. Chaos Theory reshuffled the deck and nobody got the new cards.
I check Oliver. He's still fighting the Ripper. I can hear the warhammer connecting—a dull, heavy rhythm that sounds like effort and accomplishes nothing against that carapace.
I check the front.
There!
