The tower didn't stop. More limbs pushed out of its walls, some shaped like spears, others like giant claws, all swinging toward Asher at once. The ground shook with every strike, cracks running through the dirt as the weight of the blows smashed down.
Asher didn't back away. He moved straight into the storm. His scythe flashed in clean arcs, each swing cutting through flesh and bone as if they were paper. He ducked under a claw, twisted past a spear of bone, and cut both apart in a single motion. Black ichor sprayed over him, burning the soil where it landed, but he didn't slow.
The Herald's voices rose higher. The tower itself groaned like a living beast in pain. Faces formed along its ribs, eyes opening and rolling wildly, mouths screaming in chorus. More limbs burst free, dozens now, all lashing down at him in a frenzy.
