Zyra took aim, almost saying a prayer to the Designers
out of habit, and pulled the trigger. She watched the
crossbow bolt slice through the air, pinning all her hopes
on it as it made its way to its target. Could this bolt
be different? Could the fact that it belonged to the monks
from the Temple of Paths be the deciding factor?
But just like every other weapon Zyra had tried, the
bolt did not do its job. It froze as it met its target.
Pixel by pixel, it was deconstructed and absorbed into
the grey, sizzling nothingness. Zyra pulled the second
trigger to fire the auxiliary bolt, more out of frustration
than any real hope of it working. It too was taken apart
and removed from the World.
‘Blast!’ Zyra tossed the useless crossbow
to one side.
The writhing mass of static shot towards her. Zyra flung
herself to the ground and rolled, her shoulder crunching
painfully over the rubble, then sprang to her feet and
ran.
