A hoarse cry rang out. Zirel. His containment strategy had reached its limits. The massive beast, wounded and enraged, had managed to land a swipe that tore through his shoulder armor, leaving a gaping, bloody gash. He staggered back, sword still raised, but his movements had lost their fluidity. The beast advanced, drooling, smelling the blood.
Elisa, freed from the ravine, saw the scene unfold. The distance was too great for her to physically intervene. Her survival instinct and the urge to protect Zirel screamed within her. Her free hand stretched out almost of its own accord, fingers curling as if to seize something in the air. An invisible wave of power shimmered around her, ready to burst forth, to crush the beast, to grind it to dust. Her stigmas glowed intensely, a golden halo visible even beneath the dust.
"Elisa!" Maggie's voice—hoarse but sharp—struck her like a whip. Maggie had gotten back to her feet, dagger in hand, running toward Zirel, ignoring her own pain.
