With a burst of rage, Kael jumped backward to break line of sight. As his feet hit the ground, he drew in a deep breath and muttered under his breath, invoking a mental focusing technique taught to elite warriors. His aura sparked violently as blue arcs of aura snaking across his arms.
The closest cultist tilted its head unnaturally far to the side, the sack-mask creaking with the movement. "Ohhh... this one fights back. The chaos inside him is loud. A blessed candidate... perhaps?"
Kael didn't wait. He charged again—but this time, instead of a direct strike, he spun and slammed the hilt of his sword into the ground. A shockwave burst out, cracking the tiles beneath the cultists' feet. Their balance faltered. One staggered to the side.
"Gotcha," Kael muttered and moved with a blur.
His elbow cracked into the side of one cultist's jaw—the mask crumpled inward slightly with a sickening crunch. But even then, the man only laughed, his mouth leaking blood.
