Torqa lumbered in, stone Ikona grinding, ochre shard pulsing, boots trailing sand. "Hit now," he growled, smashing a crate, splinters flying, Stone Crush flaring, demanding blood. Vexen's hawk screeched, landing, amber eyes glowing, Signal Trace syncing with drones. "Patrols cycle hourly," she said, leaning on a crate, green shard pulsing, caution in her eyes.
Roachaline's Coercive Pulse flared, level two, a ripple silencing Torqa's growl, her shards sparking, Ikona's claws snapping. "We bait," she said, voice biting, cigarette hissing out on the table. "Draw their shards, strip 'em, like the video says." Her attractive scowl burned, believers murmuring, "Rogues coming," their zeal fervent, a comm buzzing: "93 shard users, arena active."
