The magic within
The outer doors — heavy iron plated with oak — were cracked inward, smoking from whatever had slammed into them.
“Wardens don’t use explosives,” Carter muttered.
“Then who does?” Killian asked.
Carter’s smile was grim. “People who aren’t afraid to break the rules.”
The doors gave way with a splintering groan, and figures poured in — half Warden, half mercenary. The Wardens were cold and precise, their mirrored masks unreadable. The mercs were loud, brutal, hacking their way forward with cleavers and hooked blades.
Killian’s magic surged to his hands without thought, shadows boiling up from the floor and coiling into serrated tendrils. He lashed out, slicing through the nearest merc’s weapon
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