Trixie sneered, her lips curling with open contempt. "Heh. Don't make me laugh. That's just your feeble attempt to scare us."
"It's a cat's last purr before dying," Robert added with a snicker, earning laughter from the rest of Dark Python.
Trixie stepped forward, her polished nails pointing straight at Ragnar. "Listen here, Orc. You better leave now if you don't want pa—"
She didn't finish her sentence.
Ragnar moved.
There was no warning, no chant, no dramatic buildup.
His weapon shot forward like a hunting bird released from its leash, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. The projectile tore into Dark Python's formation with brutal force, slicing through bodies as if they were made of paper.
The sound it made was almost pleasant—an oddly clean thunk—before chaos erupted.
Trixie and the players closest to her were sent flying, their bodies lifted into the air like bowling pins struck head-on. Since Trixie stood at the front, she took the full brunt of the attack.
