A tide of enchantments washed over Ki Song, pressing her into the shattered surface of the broken bone. Her wings broke with a revolting crunch, the black feathers becoming soaked with blood. Her red dress rustled, the rich fabric tearing under the immense weight.
The frayed threads moved as if possessing a life of their own, however, repairing the tears a moment later.
The wings were mended, as well — only to be broken once again, and mend themselves once more.
Using that brief lull in the onslaught of attacks, Anvil rushed forward with impossible speed. His twin swords fell like the blades of a guillotine, one aimed at her neck, the other at her abdomen. This time, there was something different about the way the sharp steel hissed as it cut the air… as if the swords were not simply cutting space, but slicing the fabric of reality itself apart.
