Far above, the Night Garden swayed as colossal waves crashed into its hull. The wraith armada was scattered, but remained unscathed, continuing its swift advance as the towering wall of mist devoured the world behind it.
The forward ships of the ghostly fleet were gone, though, their spectral crews eviscerated by the ruthless blade of the Reaper. Jet had sustained some wounds, but the chilling slaughter she had perpetrated effortlessly overshadowed their severity.
And, unlike how any other Awakened would, she was not growing tired. If anything, the more enemies she slayed, the more alive she looked, as if the dark splendor of the unending slaughter filled her with vitality.
There were two problems, though.
