Sydria didn’t answer immediately. Her fiightened on the hilts of her swords, and her eyes beh the banshee mask glimmered with sorrow. The mask itself depicted a g face, its exaggerated lines capturing grief and despair.

  The Banshee, a mythical figure in Eldar lore, was both a harbinger of sorrow ah. Her wail heralded misfortune and could even sever souls from their Spirit Stones. “Why?” Rosina pressed, her tone sharpening. “Why choose the Way of the Howling Banshee?”

  Sydria’s voice was heavy with anguish. “You should know,” she said, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

  Rosina smirked, her tourning mog. “Ah, such a foolish question. But your answer is even more foolish. Who are you m, Sydria? Me?” Her ughter echoed, sharp and cruel. “You don’t o mourn me. You’ll hate me soon enough—hate me more than you imagine. Because in this game, you’re the unfortunate one, not me.”

  “There’s no point in wasting more words,” Sydria said, her voice steady. “Draw your bde, Rosina. Let it decide.”

  “Very well.” Rosina stamped her foot, releasing a surge of psychiergy that rippled through the room. A long bde embedded in the ground leaped into the air. She caught it effortlessly, the bde settling at her waist. But instead of uhing it, she brought forth another on: a Shadow Weaver.

  Sydria’s eyes narrowed as Rosina hoisted the heavy firearm. Her lips curled in pt. “Typical,” she muttered under her breath. “A duelist bringing a gun to a swht.”

  Rosina’s ugh was cold and merciless as she raised the on. The Shadow Weaver was no ordinary firearm. Its emitter glowed faintly, and the on thrummed with psychiergy. The first shot tore through the air as Sydria darted sideways, rolling to avoid the deadly bst.

  The shadowy fiment hissed as it struot Sydria, but ay er of the room. The coiling energy revealed an invisible figure as it collided. An Eldar ranger, cloaked in the void, cried out as the monofiment threads ensnared him. His stealth shimmered and failed, his form being visible for a fleeting moment before the threads stricted, slig through him with merciless precision.The ranger’s body shattered grotesquely, as if sliced into tless fragments. Blood sprayed across the ground as his remains crumbled like a colpsing tower. The se was over in an instant, leaving only silen its wake.

  The Shadow Weaver, a fearsome Eldar on, unleashed its uack. Unlike human firearms or the on star darts of the Eldar, the Shadow Weaver ejected a polymer anic metal. These microscopic, razor-sharp monofiment threads formed an intricate web that entas victims. Struggling only tightehe web, slig flesh with excruciating precision. Within moments, the trapped enemy was reduced to a pile of blood and shredded remains.

  Rosina kly what Sydria was attempting. The plea for a sword duel was a trap desigo coax her into abandoning her ranged advantage. Sydria’s pn was to dey and distract her until the rangers could take optimal shooting positions. However, Rosina was her na?ve nor unprepared. She wasn’t insulted by the tacti the trary, she found it amusing. She allowed the rao plete their setup, knowing she would still dictate the battle's course.

  The bat began. “Blood spills like rivers, fury rises as storms, death awakens with the cry of Khaine, and war calls to the soul!” Rosina sang the a Eldar war song as she moved. Her movements were graceful and rhythmic, like a dancer on a stage. She twisted, leapt, and spun, dodging attacks with uny precision. Psychiergy bolts, glowing like starlight, shot at her from all dires, but none found their mark. Each arrow missed her, as if she could predict their trajectories. Even as she evaded the rangers’ volleys, Rosina tauhem.

  “Rangers who have strayed from the Path, do you feel it? The blood beh your feet, the rage in your hearts, the death closing in? And the war… the war you ot win. Do you feel the power of Chaos c through this nd? Do you feel your own futility?”

  “Rosina!” Sydria’s voice cut through the din. The banshee mask distorted her words, amplifying them into a shrieking wail that reverberated across the battlefield. She leapt high, her twin Mirror Swlinting in her hands. “You bastard!”

  The mask’s psychic sound wave shattered the air. The Banshee Wail, a signature ability of the Screaming Banshees, was an atta the mind itself. It resonated in the brains of its victims, indug terror, paralysis, and even physical colpse. Against an unprepared foe, the effect was devastating. Most enemies froze in pce, uo resist as the Banshee dispatched them with surgical efficy.

  But Rosina was not unprepared. Though she staggered for a brief moment uhe psychic assault, she recovered almost immediately. That momentary pse, however, was enough for the rao exploit. One of them loosed an energy arrow from a carefully calcuted ahe glowing projectile streaked toward Rosina, its trajectory perfect. At the same time, Sydria desded from above, her Mirror Swords poised to strike.

  It seemed as if Rosina was trapped. Sydria’s deadly bdes were aimed for her neck, while the arrow sped toward her back. The Eldar rangers held their breath, certain they had secured victory.

  But Rosina smiled. With fluid precision, she hurled the Shadow Weaver at Sydria. Simultaneously, she reached for the long sword at her waist. In a single, smooth motion, she drew the bde—the Great Sword Executiohis on, as revered ahal as the Mirror Swords, shimmered with a power that rivaled the elegand deadliness of Sydria’s bdes.

  Sydria didn’t hesitate. Her swords moved as ohe first bde sshed down, cutting the Shadow Weaver in two and sending the pieces flying. The sed came diagonally, aiming to strike Rosina’s exposed fnk.

  Rosina’s long sword met the desding bde with a sharp, crystalline g. The impact reverberated through the air as the ons collided. Both fighters were now fully eheir spiritual energy surging through their bdes.

  Sydria gritted her teeth, p her rage and sorrow into every strike. The delicate beauty of the Mirror Swords belied their destructive power, and Sydria wielded them with deadly precision. But Rosina was no less skilled. The Great Sword Executioner moved with her like aension of her body, parrying each strike with uny ease. “You’ve improved,” Rosina admitted, her tone light yet mog. “But you’ll never be strong enough to defeat me.”

  “You talk too much,” Sydria spat, ung a relentless flurry of attacks.

  Bdes cshed in a dazzling dispy of skill. Sparks fleiritual energy coursed through the ons, illuminating the dark battlefield in bursts of brilliant light. Each strike was a test of strength, precision, and will.