Lyle quickly attacked the man again, swiping his spear to the side with incredible speed.
The mercenary leader's eyes widened fractionally – shock warring with decades of ingrained survival instinct. His own blade, a heavy bastard sword seemingly too large for his frame, snapped up in a desperate parry. The clash sent a shower of sparks and a deafening clang echoing within the suddenly oppressive dome.
Lyle didn't press the attack immediately. Instead, he flowed back a step, spear held loosely but radiating menace. The momentary pause was all the signal his companions needed.
Chaos erupted.
"Engage!" Nicholas's command sliced through the telepathic link, cold and precise. "Prioritize group cohesion. Eliminate threats efficiently. Drakor, Lostred – flank left. Londar, keep the array up, strengthen it if you must. Ruby, the woman is yours. Lyle… don't overdo it, we should have a talk after this."
