The Lady of Illusion floated high above them now, her glowing form pulsing with raw arcane energy. The runes she'd cast were still circling, warping the chamber's space and air into something half-real, half-nightmare. Every breath Inigo took felt like it came with a pound of pressure pressing on his lungs.
But there was no turning back.
He adjusted the foregrip on his M4A1 Carbine, pulling it tight against his shoulder. Beside him, Lyra crouched low, her bow drawn, eyes locked on the Lady's shifting form.
"We go on three," Inigo said, voice tight, clipped. "We stick to live fire and keep our heads clear. Don't believe anything you see unless it bleeds."
Lyra nodded.
"One."
He pulled a flashbang from his vest and yanked the pin.
"Two."
He threw it high.
"Three!"