The rhythm quickened, turning into a savage cadence, a heartbeat forged of steel and will. The pounding of weapons against shields and Maggie's guttural chant held the whispers at bay, forcing them to retreat into the limbo of their minds. Tonar seized this fragile reprieve to drive the assault forward.
"Forward!" he roared, and the spearhead they formed drove deeper into the cursed village.
The puppets fell beneath their blows, a harvest of inert flesh. The beasts, more cunning, tried to flank them, but Zirel's arrows and Élisa's spear pinned them to the ground. Zirel, his quiver nearly empty, had drawn a short sword and a dagger. He slipped through the chaos like a shadow, slashing a monster's hamstrings before burying his blade into its neck. His style was elastic, unpredictable, a deadly dance at the heart of the chaos.
