Thus, the shaman stepped back, her brow furrowing as an expression of surprise twisted her already hideous face.
Drevan was still on the ground, everything happening too fast for him to react—as if the weight of the world had settled on his back, pinning him down.
And there, in front of him, Dahlia began to walk. Halberd in hand, she strolled toward the shaman with a lazy, almost careless air.
Then all at once, just as her foot was about to touch the ground for the next step—
she vanished.
Drevan's eyes widened, his head whipping around frantically—
but she was nowhere.
Before he could even utter a word,
a shadow fell from above.
He looked up—
and there she was. Dahlia, descending from the sky like a violet comet, halberd raised high, her form coiled with deadly intent.
She was falling, and her weapon was already poised to strike.
The shaman crossed her arms above her head just in time.
Both her hands, now wrapped in jagged metal gauntlets, rose to meet the blow.
