Karl, Kola, Theodric, and Lunara kept charging forward like an unbroken tide, their resolve hardening with every step. From above, Malachai hovered midair, his three dark pairs of wings spreading wide like a living storm. With sharp, deliberate motions, he launched volleys of feathers, each one slicing through the air like a fired bullet.
Instantly, Karl and the rest reacted, their bodies moving on instinct, leaping side to side, twisting at the waist, bending and raising their upper bodies just enough to let death skim past them. Every feather that missed found the ground instead, detonating in small, violent bursts that scarred the surface. Yet even as the earth shuddered beneath them, their charge never slowed.
