The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with unspent magic and the heavy breaths of the defeated assassins.
They crouched, battered and bruised, as Lyerin paced like a panther before them, his mocking words cutting through the stillness.
His lecture on their incompetence had stung more than any physical blow, and his unrelenting confidence was like a towering wall they couldn't hope to scale. But amidst their exhaustion, their desperation, there was a flicker of something else.
Something dangerous. A silent exchange of glances passed between Donovan, Theran, Miriam, Mikhail, and the Younger Woman.
And then, without warning, they moved.
Mana erupted in a violent burst, the very air around them vibrating with raw power. It wasn't the sloppy, chaotic magic Lyerin had so eagerly mocked before.
This time, their attacks were precise, deliberate, woven together like the threads of a deadly tapestry.
