The ocean floor surrounding the crushed drop pods was thick with the scent of ozone and iron. Silt hung in dense, gray clouds, swirling slowly in the wake of the battle.
Kyle stood near the edge of a deep fissure, his bare left hand resting on the hilt of his dormant shadow blade. His gauntlet—the dark, living metal wrapped around his right forearm—pulled in the stray shadows cast by the wreckage, absorbing every scrap of stray darkness into his core.
A few paces away, the three surviving members of the Silver Vanguard were forced onto their knees.
Yua stood directly behind them, her long claws resting lightly against the nape of the central knight's neck. A thin, trickling line of dark blood escaped from under his collar where her claws grazed his skin. On their right, Elara stood with her twin aquatic daggers held low, her cold indigo eyes locked onto the mages' hands, ready to sever any fingers that attempted to trace a spell-rune in the water.
