Zykra's shadow Ikona shimmered, Shadow Veil cloaking a crate, violet shard flickering, her voice low, "Gates're weak east." Roachaline's Coercive Pulse flared, level two, silencing Torqa's growl, her shards sparking, Ikona's claws snapping. "We bait," she said, voice biting, "strip their shards, like the video." Believers murmured, "Rogues come," their zeal fervent, a comm buzzing: "93 shard users."
Roachaline exhaled smoke, knife twirling, ordering, "Vexen, scout east. Sylira, jam their comms. Torqa, Nexis, crush the gates. Zykra, cloak us." Her Ikona hissed, believers chanting, "New blood!" the video's threat alive, raid stakes soaring, the post's shadow heavy, her fierce beauty a blade, five thousand waiting, Vardency's dust a shroud, the six ready, blood calling.
