"There!"
Nyx saw the opening, the narrow, flickering gap between reality and madness that Hecate's spell had carved open.
For a moment, the battlefield seemed to freeze.
Her eyes locked at the revealed core of the entity, and her breath trembled in wrath so ancient it made the stars themselves shudder.
Without hesitation, she raised her corrupted arm, the one that pulsed and writhed with the sickening vitality of the Outer Ones' essence.
From that arm, darkness surged.
That darkness was not just mere shadow, nor was it simple power, it was existence being rejected in a form of mass of tendrils coiling into infinity, each lined with blinking eyes and whispering mouths that spoke in forgotten tongues.
The air tore apart as an endless wave of those tendrils erupted forward, twisting and writhing as they shot toward the fragment's exposed core.
The sheer force of her unleashed power split the very fabric of the battlefield, sundering light and space alike.
Then, she pulled.
