Rain slid down her wrist and traced a cold line across his blood-soaked chest.
Her palm rested flat over his sternum, fingers spread, light pressure only. No wind-up. No dramatic motion. She did not need it. Jagger could still feel the echo of the first strike vibrating through his ribcage, a phantom tremor buried in bone and marrow. Every breath rasped against ribs that had only just knit themselves back together. His lungs dragged air in with a wet, scraping sound.
Beyond them, the battlefield raged without pause.
The Troll King roared again, a cavernous bellow that rolled down the street like collapsing stone. The ground trembled under its weight as its massive club crushed a section of asphalt into a crater. Fire hissed violently in the rain where Bastion's flame arrows struck exposed flesh. Wind howled in spirals where Porpo's magic carved apart goblins mid-leap. Somewhere to the left, a Bloodclaw screamed in manic laughter before the sound cut off abruptly into a wet choke.
