I slammed into Lord of Loss, and this time there was an effect. Far below, two forelegs of his centaur form were breaking. I was slower than the thrown silver blades, so Precipice had signaled me, then timed the throws to connect just before I did.

Lord of Loss lurched forward, his forward tilt and the falling legs damaging the house as they toppled. His shield came forward, the end slamming into the ground, which allowed him to avoid a faceplant. Already, his legs were reforming.

Silver blades hit the shield, and I hit Lord of Loss. The shield broke, and the broken end skidded on the ground. Where it skidded, floorboards broke and shattered, and masses beneath the floorboards began to move, disturbing them further.

It was taking two of us just to keep an Endbringer-sized breaker from getting fully put together and building up his momentum. Our team wasn’t getting away because forward progress was a slog, hampered by Nursery’s power and the soldiers that had to be dealt with one by one.

My ears rang in the wake of a blast somewhere down on the battlefield. It was one of three shots—lasers that hurt to listen to. The cape was one of Lord of Loss’s underlings, it seemed, and they were slinging blasts like nobody’s business. A flaming lob high overhead that forced our guys to scatter, then a volley of green and black spheres, that cracked like eggs and leaked out acid. Foil turned the spider-mounted crossbow around to fire, and the blaster threw something to their feet—crystal encased them, freezing them immobile within for less than a second. It was less than a second because Foil’s shot hit the crystal and both the bolt and the crystal shattered. The cape was free to fire off some more artillery-like lobs.

Foil was running out of ammunition.

Lord of Loss advanced, two of his legs unsteady, forcing him to use the end of the lance or the shield to support his weight. I circled over his head like a vulture, ready to act, and he was keeping an eye out for me. The lance moved, swiping out.

The movement of the lance produced a shockwave that threw my flying off course.

Have to be careful, I told myself. Can’t—can’t repeat the Crawler situation.

With the force that lance was swinging around with, a good hit could destroy the Wretch and produce a residual flurry of wind that would slam me into a hard surface.

Mood, I thought.

Self-doubt and regret was Precipice. Another signal.

I took the signal for what it was and engaged Lord of Loss. Again, the lance swiped past me. The aftermath was worse than it had been, pulling me into the eddy of air that followed after the lance.

I closed the distance, and I landed a solid blow. Lord of Loss began to crumble.