Theo is waiting for an opening, just a tiny crack that will give him one opportunity to attack.
Just one. I need just one.
But it's as if the King knows exactly what he's planning. It doesn't give him a break.
The rain of arrows doesn't stop. Not even for a heartbeat. And now Theo can sense the change. The arrows are no longer just arrows. They are slowly transforming, stretching into spear-like shapes, heavier, denser, sharper.
Each hit against his shield sends a violent tremor through him. He feels it deep in his chest, like how a powerful sound from a speaker can vibrate straight into the heart. Not pain, not exactly. Pressure. Impact. Relentless force.
Each hit grows heavier than the last.
Theo grits his teeth and reinforces his shield, adding layer after layer after layer. Light folds over itself, compacting, thickening, forming a barrier that hums under the constant assault.
Time stretches.
