The Berserker Demon let out a guttural growl, its silver eyes locking onto them with a primal hunger. The air around it rippled with raw, silver myst, the sheer pressure making Sheila tighten her grip on her sword.
Asher exhaled sharply, fingers flexing as blue flames coiled around his hands like living serpents. "Well, shit. That thing looks pissed."
Chris cracked his knuckles, arcs of electricity dancing between his fingertips. "Of course it is. That's a Berserker Demon. It won't stop until we put it down."
"Then let's not waste time!" Sheila shouted.
The demon moved.
Fast.
For something so massive, its charge was almost instant—a blur of gray muscle and black steel. The ground cracked beneath its weight as it lunged, battle-axe raised high, aiming straight for Sheila.
She had no time to dodge.
CLANG!
