Medoran snarls, throwing up a wall of molten light.
Lysaria speaks calmly: "Break it."
Gander answers without delay: "Done."
He slams his palm forward—curse-chains burst from the vortex, wrapping around the solar wall. The moment it hesitates, Lysaria's plague-laced spear tears through it like wet cloth.
Medoran barely avoids a lethal blow—barely.
Gresvin is not as lucky. A chain lashes out from behind him, laced with predictive binding. It wraps his ankle, dragging him mid-dodge into Lysaria's wake. Her palm brushes his chest—only a touch.
But curses bloom like flowers.
Tier 5 Skill: Decaymark Pulse
They detonate a heartbeat later.
Gresvin is blasted back, cloak torn, aura flickering.
He vanishes again—but slower.
Medoran snarls, teeth bared beneath his helm as he whips around to catch Gresvin struggling to stabilize in the air, curses still eating away at his aura. The scent of scorched mana and rot burns in his nostrils.
