Zaza's shadow exploded outward like spilled ink, spreading across the shattered street in a pool of darkness.
From it emerged dozens of undead knights: skeletal figures clad in rusted armor, wielding swords and shields.
They rose with jerky, unnatural movements, their hollow eye sockets burning faintly with purple light, and charged the Reaper without hesitation.
However, the Reaper didn't slow down. Its scythe moved in perfect arcs. Each swing harvested three, four, five knights at once.
Bodies crumbled, withering into dust before they hit the ground. The Reaper walked through the horde like it was strolling through fog, unbothered and unrushed.
Of course it didn't feel like much, but Zaza had bought seconds... maybe a dozen of them. For everytime the Reaper swung, that was a moment spent not chasing after Kurt.
Behind her, Kurt knelt on the concrete, his bleeding hand pressed against the ground. Blood pooled beneath his palm, and he began to trace.
