Draeven met it head-on, purple flames pulsing around his forearms.
Instead of dodging, he punched.
The clone's face buckled on contact—not from brute force, but as though its structure had been disrupted.
Draeven's fist passed through, and the creature collapsed like a hollow statue.
His eyes gleamed. 'It seem to attack element directly. That's why I can hit them like they're solid.'
He lifted his shovel again, coating it with the flame—and charged into the next wave.
The clones surrounded him now, claws swinging in tandem, bodies slamming from every side.
But the flame parted them like a blade through fog.
Draeven weaved through the chaos, shovel gleaming with purple flame—every strike severing limbs, collapsing torsos, breaking legs.
Another jumped—Draeven ducked low, then jammed the flat of his shovel into its gut. The flame surged from the weapon, spreading like ink in water.
BOOM.
