The last of them, one of lightning, attacked another group of Magi, his element crackling around his outstretched fingers.
Malik was already upon him.
He punched his hand forward, a geyser of flame erupting in the Sahir's path.
The man barely managed to twist away, but not fast enough.
The edge of his cloak caught fire.
He rolled to extinguish it, only for Malik to land next to him before he could stand.
A blade, dark in fire, drove through his chest.
Last one down.
...That didn't make things easier, however.
The enemy simply kept coming.
Wind howled. Rocks shattered.
Arrows meant for bandits now turned toward the caravan.
The second wave of bandits had arrived.
Malik's fire spread in response.
Every step he took left embers in his wake.
He cut through the battlefield like he was a blade himself.
One moment he was helping a group of guards kill a few Magi, and the next he was mowing them down with Ali Baba to his side.
