The air in the chamber was suffocating, the echoes of clashing metal reverberating off the stone walls. Lyra's greatsword crackled faintly as she tightened her grip, the glow of her aura casting long shadows against the advancing living armors. Victor stood to her left, his staff trembling in his hands as he prepared another spell. Sylvia crouched low, her claws glinting and tail lashing, ready to pounce.
"They're not letting up," Victor muttered, his voice strained.
"Then we stop running," Lyra said firmly, her aura flaring brighter around her. "If we're going to make it through this, we fight smart."
Sylvia glanced at her, her feline eyes narrowing. "What's the plan, then?"
"My aura," Lyra said, taking a deep breath. "When I strike with it, the armors don't just fall apart—they're obliterated. That's our key."
