The Dark Knight came up off her knee, and nobody was ready.
Not really. Ronan stood behind half a shield. Finn's arm was red to the wrist. Cillian's lightning flickered around one working hand. Maeve had 35 mana and a field thin enough to see through.
She came anyway.
[DARK KNIGHT OF THE SUCCUBUS CROSS — FINAL WRATH]
[ARMOR REGENERATION FAILED]
[PARTY CORRUPTION RESISTANCE STRAINED]
The first swing had nothing measured left in it. It came down at Ronan like a tree falling, and the burning blade dragged a red-black trail through the air behind it.
Ronan caught it on the broken frame.
CRUNCH.
The frame folded around the blow. He turned with it instead of against it, shed half the force into the mud, and still went skidding back three meters with his boots plowing twin lines.
"Still up," he said. It came out as a wheeze.
She was already swinging again. Messier now. Heavier. Every cut was a kill if it landed and an opening if it didn't, and she no longer cared which.
