Fey staggered out from behind the pillar, coughing slightly from the steam but her eyes blazing with defiance. "Getting a little cocky there, aren't you? Survived a little zap and now you think you're the star of the show?"
"He was lucky," Julian stated flatly, his gaze never leaving the Ghost. "Luck runs out."
They attacked again, this time in a more coordinated, brutal symphony. Julian sent multiple Shadow tendrils lancing from the darkness of the room's corners not to strike directly, but to harry, to bind, to limit movement.
The Ghost became a whirlwind of liquid metal, its limbs morphing into blades and shields to slice through the dark constructs or deflect them with sharp, ringing clangs. It counterattacked with blinding speed, a needle-thin spike shooting from its palm towards Julian's eye.
Julian jerked his head aside, feeling the wind of its passage, and parried a follow-up slash from a solidified blade-arm with a hardened shadow-claw of his own.
