The thing the cultist used to be did not fight the way he had fought.
The man had been precise and economical, every movement carrying a clear tactical purpose while those red eyes tracked and calculated and adjusted, and fighting him had felt like fighting a machine built to last.
But this thing? That was a tornado with a cursed claw attached to it.
-Kzzzt-!
I teleported ten meters to the left as the massive curved claw came down, carving a trench half a meter deep into the dirt where I had been standing a fraction of a second ago, and the shockwave from the impact hit me the second I blinked out, damn near stumbling me.
Keeping Temporal Step hidden was no longer an option. That thing was too damn fast.
