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He raised a hand, and the air hummed. Souls of the recently fallen, patrons caught in the crossfire swirled around him like storm clouds. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled a concentrated bolt of necrotic energy. It struck Krag’s mechanical arm, corroding the metal into blackened slag. The minotaur howled, stumbling back as Diagon’s skeletal warriors pinned him to the wall with spears of shadow.
“Anyone else?” Diagon growled, his voice layered with the whispers of the dead.
The remaining thugs hesitated until their leader, the scarred demon, roared. “Kill the half-breed!”
Three enforcers lunged for Lyra, chainsaw blades revving. Diagon snarled. “Come on, guys, now isn’t the time to be petty.”
He snapped his fingers. The Tesla-charged jukebox exploded, arcs of electricity surging into the chainsaws. The thugs convulsed, flesh sizzling, as Diagon’s shadows coiled around their throats. With a jerk of his hand, he pulled; their souls tore free, glowing orbs of light he crushed in his palm, fueling his mana.
Lyra stared, wide-eyed. “Soulmancer.”
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