[Use caution. Remaining two targets are highly volatile. Estimated time to contact: 4 seconds.]
Qingran didn't reply. Her jaw clenched, blood sliding from the corner of her mouth as she adjusted her stance. The burst of energy from the flame strike had hollowed her out just a bit too much — not dangerous yet, but dangerously close.
The second Riftborn — the one that had leaked out of the concrete like spilled shadow — slithered with unnatural grace, reforming into a hunched quadruped. It hissed, though it had no mouth, and the tips of its claws glimmered like obsidian glass.
"Come on then," she muttered.
It obliged.
It darted left — feint — then right — real — and she turned into it, body low, ducking beneath its strike. The moment its limb passed over her, she pivoted hard, catching the joint in its rear leg with the axe haft. The blow cracked through cartilage, and the beast shrieked as it stumbled.
That's when she grabbed it.
With bare hands.
