Steel met mana. Sparks flew. The cloth didn't tear. But it hissed.
Ren was behind the figure now. Fast. Blade low. Ice crawling up her arms in a spiral pattern like frost was responding to her pulse.
She struck.
The mage turned.
Too late.
The sword hit.
It didn't cut deep.
But it cut.
First blood.
Steam rose from the wound like smoke from old incense.
The mage didn't scream.
He didn't even flinch.
He just turned his mask fully to Ren.
A burst of dark mana exploded from the staff's head, point blank.
Ren went flying. Backward. Through a pile of crates. Wood shattered. Ice mist filled the air. She landed hard, but rolled back up with a wheeze.
"Okay," she coughed. "He hits hard."
"You alright?" Lindarion called, fire already coiled in his hand.
"Absolutely not," she shouted. "But I'm mad now."
Lira used the distraction.
