The black Grayling let out a shriek—high-pitched and mind-numbing—and lunged again.
Everything descended into chaos.
Nansich dove into the bushes, Li Wang scrambled toward a boulder for cover, and
The amplifier fizzed and blinked, barely holding on. Leaves exploded into the air. Dust choked the ground.
But Jian didn't move.
He stood frozen—hands clenched at his sides, chest heaving, eyes locked on the monstrous thing before him. The hilt of his sword was still buried in the Grayling's shoulder, unreachable, mocking him with its presence.
And then it moved.
A tentacle, slick and barbed, whipped toward his face.
He didn't even have time to react. His legs twitched, but he was too slow.
Move. Move, dammit—
His body refused. And in that split second, time seemed to slow. His thoughts screamed.
I was a fool.
I thought I could help. I thought I could fight.
But I'm just a stupid, useless human who played pretend with a sword someone else gave me.
