Eamon felt as though all his paths to retreat were sealed off. No matter where he looked, it felt as though the word death was being written into the skies just for his viewing pleasure.
Except there was no pleasure at all.
Shaken, he quickly solidified the talismans he had been forming. This time, under Leonel's tutelage, he had learned that sometimes offense was the best defense. He couldn't always turtle himself up and expect the best results. He had to do more than that.
Half his talismans were diverted to his defense while the other rushed out… forming shields.
Leonel didn't know what to say when he saw this, but it wasn't his place to try and force Eamon to change too much. In the end. If he couldn't take the steps he needed to himself, then all that was left would be death.
The falling javelins shattered the shields apart. It was hard to even say if they were delayed at all, a rain of silver and gold flooding the area.
