Atrox screamed and knew he was going to die. The difference between them was simply too much; they had actual techniques, unlike him, who was only using shaped essence. Pain was fire replacing his veins, and his shoulder burned with it.
Suddenly, he saw a shadow darken the corner where he stood, and he didn't question why they hadn't finished him off with arrows.
He poured his frustration into his will, imagining the largest attack he could come up with and pouring his essence into it without care. But he didn't release it yet. He held it back with all his might, waiting for the best opportunity.
The female assassin held two green blades while vines covered her like a cloak, twisting around her like serpents. "Interesting, you're still not dead. I understand why they sent us now. Do you have any last wishes?"
