A wall of blood formed in front of him, blocking the punch of the elemental orc.
The crimson barrier solidified with a viscous slurp, absorbing the impact in a spray of droplets that hung suspended, the metallic scent sharpening the room's tension.
"Boss!" a group of underlings called out, noticing the confrontation of the elemental orc with Void.
Their voices rose in alarm from the corners of the inn, chairs scraping as they surged forward, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide with protective fury.
They moved to provide their assistance to the elemental orc, a tide of snarling, weapon-brandishing subordinates surging forward like a living wall of muscle and steel.
But their path, though, was blocked by Michael and Isobel. The two stepped in perfect sync, planting themselves between the mob and their boss, the way a dam holds back a flood.
