She dashed forward, flickering between footfalls.
Her assault became a blizzard of precise, honed strikes. Slashes turned into spiraling hooks, feints became phantom clones woven from condensed blood essence. She attacked from three sides at once—each illusion carrying just enough force to distract.
The knight finally grunted.
One of her phantom strikes landed deep into his thigh, staggering him a step. But he countered with a cyclone of compressed air—so sharp that it cut her illusions apart and sliced a shallow wound across her temple.
Veyra wiped the blood away and muttered, "You're starting to bleed. Let's deepen the wound."
The knight responded by plunging his blade into the floor.
A ring of electric pressure erupted outward.
Veyra was forced to leap backward—but not fast enough. The ring clipped her right leg, slicing deep into muscle. Her flight faltered. She landed badly and had to roll to dodge a descending overhead slash that shattered the floor.
