As Eryndor's attack landed, Anya flinched, a flicker of pain crossing her face. Her grip on the Whisperwind Whip loosened for a fraction of a second, and even her defensive art faltered.
In that minuscule window, Eryndor moved, the influence of eldritch form allowing him to grasp timings in increasingly efficient ways.
He didn't unleash a powerful offensive art.
Instead, with a burst of Cloud Stride, he closed the distance and executed a swift, almost casual-looking Internal Fist strike to Anya's solar plexus – a vulnerable point with fewer layers of Qi protection, especially with her focus fractured.
The impact was deceptively light on the outside, but Anya's eyes widened in pain as she felt the pain straight to her inner organs.
She staggered back, clutching her stomach.
Eryndor pressed his advantage. He didn't give her a chance to recover.
He launched a series of rapid Air Cleaving Slash attacks at her legs, now less protected by her faltering Qi.
