The Reaper moved.
Not a twitch. Not a jerk. Just gone from standing to gliding forward without bothering to step. His cloak dragged behind him like it had a mind of its own.
Lucen shifted left, breath caught halfway in his chest.
'Okay. That's fine. Humanoid form. Probably less freaky than a floating mask, right?'
The Reaper raised its arm.
Not the scythe this time.
A hand.
Pale. Bone-white. Wrapped in thin fabric like something half-mummified, half-ceremonial.
Lucen's instincts screamed.
He dove sideways.
The air behind him folded. No noise. No impact. Just vanished. Like part of the world had been erased.
He rolled to a crouch, boots scraping stone.
"Cover!" he shouted.
Mira dove behind a half-fallen column. Senna didn't move. She was already in motion, sword cutting low with a clean sweep at the Reaper's legs.
The blade passed through again.
No blood. No hit. Just a shiver in the air, like the space it touched disagreed with reality.
