The Extinction-grade Void-Walker turned mid-parry.
One tentacle of the Abyss-Eyed Devourer came down like a guillotine made of hunger.
Anti-Meridian flared.
He redirected the strike.
His pattern shifted so subtly that the sky did not notice at first. A slight rotation of geometry across his shoulders.
To everyone else, it looked like normal defense.
But Lucien's eyes narrowed.
Perfect Calculation snapped.
And then he understood.
The Extinction-grade was not retreating.
He was guiding the Devourer's tentacles toward Saber.
He was leading the calamity like a leashless beast, turning each refused "route" into a forced "angle," making the Devourer's swings drift closer and closer toward the Moonfang Smilodon below.
The next tentacle would not strike the Void-Walker.
It would strike Saber's concentration.
Seconds.
Lucien's mind ran the numbers, the arcs, the delays in Continuance, and the rhythm of Anti-Meridian's denials.
The result was immediate.
