The battle had devolved into chaos.
Twisted limbs snapped through the underbrush, clawed hands tearing at trees and stone alike.
The corruption had spread — not just one monster anymore, but many. Dozens.
They poured out of the forest like black tar given form, all of them bearing the same unnatural, mangled features.
Some walked on all fours, others slithered. One even crawled upside down along the trees, its limbs cracking backward with each movement.
Nova stood in the middle of it all, blade dripping with dark ichor. His muscles were tensed, breathing steady but shallow.
Then it hit him.
A sudden crack, like a ripple through his bones, and his aether—normally a roaring river within his veins—slammed to a crawl.
His fingers twitched and for a second, his sword wavered. He narrowed his eyes. The pressure was external, a force slithering around him like invisible chains.
[Nova.]
Nyx's voice rang out inside his head, sharp with urgency.
