The world became a roaring, shattering descent. Ren led the fall not as a plummeting stone, but as a meteor, a comet of furious golden light. The collapsing gantry became a hailstorm of debris around them, a screen of shattered obsidian and screaming metal. Talon warriors scattered below, their coordinated formations broken by the sudden, divine violence from above.
Kael hit the ground in a roll, his sword already clearing its sheath in a single, fluid motion. He came up swinging, meeting the charge of a Talon blade-dancer with a brutal, pragmatic parry that shattered the dancer's more elegant weapon. This was his language. Chaos, distilled into a fight he could win with muscle and instinct.
Anya and her warrior landed like the predators they were, a whirlwind of fangs and axes, meeting
