The next few minutes were a blur of perfect violence. Wherever Eleanor moved, monsters lay dead in her wake. Her spear was no longer a separate tool, but the sharpened extension of her will. It flashed in short, efficient arcs through the battlefield… a thrust here, a deflection there, a reversal everywhere. Wherever the point went, monsters fell one by one. Wherever the shaft spun, a charge was broken or a jaw was shattered.
She used the hilltop, the monsters, even the terrain itself to her advantage. She was never where claws or teeth expected her to be. She became a phantom in their blind spots, striking from angles they could not comprehend. She turned their momentum against them, redirecting lunges into collisions, using heavier beasts as shields against faster ones.
