Zerg charged ahead with an energy that defied his age and imprisonment, tossing a boulder into a group of guards who barely had time to scream before being flung aside like leaves in a storm.
Fenrir followed at a slower pace, calm and composed, his hands glowing faintly with the signature shimmer of Master of Illusions.
With every step he took, shadows bent unnaturally, forming twisted images of enemies that didn't exist.
Some guards dropped their weapons and ran, screaming names of their comrades they believed had turned against them.
"Do they always panic this easily?"
Zerg asked, his voice echoing over the chaos.
"They're not used to real resistance."
Fenrir muttered, stepping over a fallen soldier who'd passed out from fear rather than injury. "The tower's control has made them soft."
Zerg leapt off another overturned cart, landing in a crouch before smashing his fist into the ground.
