The Shadow looked stunned for a moment. Complying soon after as the thrum of a Vale Weapon, a Glaive congealed around her palm with the snap of her fingers. Exposed by the drip of moonlight.
Altair lifted a brow, noting the intrinsic manner in which Nia conjured the very essence of the Vale. It seemed as though it were done not as a thought but as though it were an everyday occurrence.
She moved. The thromb of her Glaive piercing through space like a surgeon's blade through flesh: precise and deadly.
Altair both saw and felt the blow approach, guiding it off course with the full length of his sword, taken back by the raw power. Despite what he felt, Nia had only used the power proportioned to an average human. Matching that level of strength, he drew a step back despite averting most of the force. Momentum drove him back.
