Kenchi's laid-back posture was gone, replaced by a low, combat-ready crouch. The air around Fena was not just heavy; it was a physical weight, a suffocating pressure that promised death. The black lines on her skin pulsed with a sickly green light, a visible manifestation of her life force burning away.
'Plan A, wait her out, that's a bust,' he thought, his hand now gripping the handle of the massive axe on his back. 'She's running on a timer, but the power output is insane. This isn't a fight anymore; it's a disaster zone. One hit from whatever she's cooking up, and I'm a red smear on the floorboards.'
Fena raised a hand, and the wood of the house itself screamed. The floorboards warped and twisted, a dozen massive, sharpened splinters the size of spears shooting up toward him. They were not just wood; they were coated in that same black-green energy, a physical form of her rage.
