Nina froze as the swirling darkness began to twist around her, the vibrant world of the dungeon warping into something darker, quieter—emptier.
The only thing that remained in place was the guard, standing tall and unbothered, his gaze fixed intently on her.
[Nina. That's not a real human. That presence—whatever's inside that illusion—is dangerous. It's not something you have encountered before, but it's old. Ancient.]
Solarin's voice finally came back, strained and tense.
Nina's breath caught. She instinctively summoned her shadow spikes, letting the dark tendrils lash out at the figure's chest, sharp as blades and precise in their aim.
The force of the hit should have been fatal. It should have ended the encounter.
But it didn't.
The spikes pierced clean through the guard, and for a moment, the illusion trembled.
But then, just as quickly, the figure corrected itself, and the holes where Nina's shadows had torn him apart vanished—like smoke dissipating in the wind.
