Lyra's feet left the ground as wind currents lifted her with impossible speed, her white eyes blazing with newfound power as she rocketed toward Seven across the blood-soaked battlefield. Water gathered around her in spiraling tendrils, forming into razor-sharp projectiles that gleamed like liquid diamonds in the moonlight.
Seven turned from her slow advance on Elysia, black eyes widening with genuine surprise as the younger woman bore down on her with murderous intent. "Well, well," she purred, raising her decay-touched hands defensively. "The little bird has learned to fly."
Lyra's first water spear struck the ground where Seven had been standing, carving a furrow three feet deep through frozen earth and stone. Seven rolled sideways with fluid grace, her corrupted armor scraping against debris as more aqueous projectiles peppered the area around her.
