The earth rumbled beneath their feet.
With a shout, Matthew drove his blade into the ground, unleashing the third form of his sword style. Cracks split through the dirt like lightning bolts. The terrain shuddered. Nearby, two Garblins stumbled, screeching in confusion as their clawed feet lost traction on the shifting ground.
That was all the opening El and Leo needed.
They moved in unison, swift as shadows.
The Garblins hunched, four-foot-tall creatures with mottled gray skin stretched tight over sinewy limbs looked up just in time to realize their doom. Their faces were twisted mockeries of humanity, with sharp spines growing from their jaws like crooked fangs. Each one clutched a rusted, serrated blade, its edges stained with the old brown of dried blood. Alone, Garblin was a threat. In a pack, they were a massacre waiting to happen.
Thankfully, only two had revealed themselves so far. Which meant the rest of the pack was likely nearby… watching.
Leo took no chances.
