Elius narrowed his eyes.
His brow furrowed.
The lines on his face sharpened. His jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck began to pulse.
Soilandor noticed.
And he smiled.
That smug, self-assured grin of someone who knew the next ten moves in the game and was letting you struggle on move two. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His legs stayed locked in place.
He leaned back slightly like a man watching a poorly acted play.
Elius took one slow breath. And then…
His foot slid back.
His right hand raised.
The five flying swords behind him twitched.
He didn't speak.
He didn't command.
He moved.
A dance of death began.
The swords responded to his Qi like paint to a brushstroke.
They whipped forward, darting and circling around Elius's form.
They swayed with every step he took, every shift in his shoulder, every twist of his wrist.
The dungeon floor cracked beneath his feet from the spiraling energy surging off his body.
SWOOSH—CLANG—SHNK—WHOOM!
