East had not gone quiet yet.
The fourth Grey-Tusk came out of the freight lane half-blinded and furious, one shoulder still smoking from Jason's earlier lightning strike. It hit the broken service road with enough force to send loose gravel dancing, its crystal-plated head swinging wildly as it tried to reorient on the nearest living thing.
"Mine," Ben said.
Mikhail did not argue. He stepped first, shield rising in a clean, brutal line. Silver-gray mana rippled over its face in square waves just as the Grey-Tusk lowered its skull and committed. The impact boomed through the lane. Mikhail planted and turned with it, not trying to stop the whole charge dead this time, only spoiling its angle enough to drag the brute off-center.
"There," Jason said.
Ben was already moving.
