The Maw didn't bother with a roar.
Too mainstream, I guess.
Its attack was pure, weaponized silence.
A wave of emo grief-magic washed over the Blade teams.
Seriously.
Gandalf was on his knees.
His face was a mask of raw agony, probably reliving some tragic backstory nonsense.
Seraphina was frozen solid, her perfect posture rigid as a board.
Her sapphire eyes were wide and unseeing, trapped in some private princess hell I couldn't even guess at.
They were wiped.
Total party kill.
The best of the best, taken out by a single, silent area-of-effect debuff.
Pathetic.
The monster's swirling, chaotic form swiveled, its dozens of scattered bug eyes focusing.
They landed on the weakest, most terrified person left on the field.
Of course.
Elara.
She let out a tiny, hopeless whimper, her body trembling so hard I thought she might just fall apart.
The Maw coiled its mismatched legs, digging into the ashen dirt.
It was getting ready to pounce.
