The air reeked of ozone and acrid smoke, remnants of Urslan's handiwork swirling in a grey haze.
Shards of the arcane siphoner, twisted and molten, littered the prison's deepest pit.
Urslan stood motionless, his face inscrutable behind the helmet—a trembling statue carved from rage and steel.
Eerily silent. The crackle of flames and rioting prisoners became mere white noise to the tumult raging in his head.
Then—
Suddenly—
Cards flew from all directions, each transforming mid-air into deadly weapons—blades, elements, venomous creatures. Instinctively, Urslan raised a wall of fire, incinerating the onslaught before it could reach him.
Smoke and ash settled around his armored form.
Five figures emerged from the shadows, shrouded in cloaks the color of a starless night. They circled him with predatory grace, silent as grave worms, each presence a tangible weight pressing in from all sides. They were part of the same group that infiltrated the prison from the sky.
