Steel clashed in the fog, the whispers screaming louder than voices. Armand's blade hummed in his grip, guiding his movements with a rhythm he didn't know he possessed. Grace Johnson fought beside him, her strikes precise, her knife's whisper steady against the chaos.
The leader of the Severed Tongues pressed forward, his jagged blade shrieking with every swing. "You can't resist forever," he snarled. "The whispers will consume you!"
Armand blocked the strike, the resonance of his blade pushing back. The whisper inside him pulsed: Hold. Defend. Trust no one. He twisted, forcing the leader's blade aside, sparks scattering into the fog.
Grace moved like shadow, her knife cutting through the air with calm precision. She struck one of the cloaked figures, disarming him in a single motion. The hum of his blade died as it hit the ground, silent.
But the leader was relentless. His blade's whisper grew louder, jagged and violent, pressing against Armand's mind. For a moment, doubt clawed at him — was Wright right? Were the whispers chains?
Grace's voice cut through the storm. "Armand! Listen to your blade, not his!"
The hum in Armand's knife surged, steady and strong. He raised it high, the resonance joining with Grace's. Together, their whispers collided with the leader's, a clash of voices that shook the alley.
The leader staggered, his blade faltering. The resonance overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees. The fog swallowed his scream as his knife shattered, fragments scattering like broken silence.
The battle was over. But Armand knew this was only the beginning. The Severed Tongues would not stop — and the Circle's whispers had chosen him for a war far greater than he imagined.