Story Spotlight — “Shroud and Fury”
Tyrgrim the Warlord planted his feet amid the wreckage and swung with both hands.
The massive, bloodied greatsword carved a brutal arc through the front rank of Insectoids, chitin cracking,
limbs scattering as the force of the blow ripped the air itself.
On the ridge, Zephyr, the Meteor Prophet , raised a scarred hand and sent the Cultists forward like spent
comets. They ran gladly into the swarm, eyes bright with madness, mouths split into grins that didn’t care
about tomorrow. Their chants tangled with the hiss of insect wings.
Nyx exhaled and the world bent. A mind-shroud folded over several Cultists—sound dulled, edges blurred, sightlines warped—so
they seemed to flicker between places. The Insectoids hesitated. Tyrgrim didn’t. He wrenched the blade free, stepped through
the gap Zephyr had fed and Nyx had hidden, and let the Psychos’ creed do the rest.
