Her body streaked through the air like a comet, aimed straight at Lugh.
Between his countless years of inherited combat memory and the Mawglass' ability to glimpse a few moments into the future, predicting her movements wasn't difficult. It was child's play, he didn't even blink.
She struck the ground hard, like a meteorite. Her magically reinforced frame cratering the garden floor. The resulting shockwave rippled outward, hurling Lugh several meters back.
He didn't stumble or falter, his retreat looked almost choreographed, like part of an elegant, well-rehearsed dance.
Without any delay, she transitioned, darting toward him while keeping low to the ground. She didn't lunge—she pounced, like a wild predator mid-hunt.
Her claws gleamed in the light, slicing toward his throat, a single swipe meant to sever his trachea and silence him forever.
Lugh twisted aside, evading effortlessly with ghostlike precision, his blade already moving into position.
