Mio moved before Eli could even blink.
"Zaira!" he shouted, voice cutting through the battlefield like a blade.
His fingers flicked outward—sharp, practiced.
A blast of silver threads erupted from his palms, glittering under the fractured sunlight. The strands snapped through the air, anchoring with precision into the back of Zaira's coat.
Then, with a violent tug, Mio yanked.
Zaira's body whipped backward just as the grotesque arm lunging from the mutated ogre's stomach sliced through the air, claws gleaming with blackened ichor. The blow missed—but only by a breath.
The sheer force of it tore into the ground, carving a deep groove into the concrete where her spine had been a heartbeat ago.
The wind of the attack roared past them like a hurricane.
Zaira crashed hard into Mio's chest with a startled gasp, but he caught her with the ease of someone who'd done it a hundred times.
"Thanks for the save," she muttered, breathless.
