The tentacles kept coming.
They tore through the air in violent arcs, slamming down with enough force to turn solid stone into rubble, yet neither of them was truly pressed.
Michael moved like a blur.
His body twisted and shifted with unnatural precision, every step landing exactly where it needed to be. His Law was active, copying the traits of Wisdom, his tamed space beast, and the effect was immediate. His perception stretched. The world seemed to slow just enough for him.
Each time a tentacle descended, he was already gone.
Rynne was no less composed.
She was not as naturally fast as Michael, but speed was far from her only advantage, nor was she lacking in that department. Her armor shimmered faintly as she moved, runes along its surface activating in sequence.
A tentacle snapped toward her waist.
