"What the hell are you?!"
The cultist's voice cracked somewhere at the top of that swarm of metal boots hammering on the rooftop, and that gentleness in his voice was completely shattered, and I'll be honest…
That alone was worth the arm.
-Hahahahaha-!
I stood there leaning on my crutch, laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, while a literal tsunami of twelve-foot black-armored knights crashed over him from every direction at once.
And credits where it's due, the dude was moving like a war god.
Every sword swing generated four more phantom blades, each one peeling off the original arc at an entirely different angle with its own sonic crack, and together they formed a constantly-shifting wall of cursed red shimmer that chewed through my knights with vicious, mechanical efficiency.
