The air crackled with tension as the armoured elf stalked toward Luke, her steps measured, her gaze unwavering. Luke's heart pounded in his chest, the reality of his predicament hammering into him with each passing second. He gripped the flamethrower tightly, but he knew it wasn't enough. His mind raced, searching for anything that could give him an edge, even a fleeting one.
The elf lunged, her massive sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Luke barely dodged in time, his boots skidding on the stone floor as the blade whistled past him, embedding itself in the wall behind him with a deafening clang.
"Alright, think, Luke," he muttered under his breath, backing away as she wrenched the sword free with ease. "If fire doesn't work, what else do I have?"
