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Six meters below the shrike raced for the wall as if just getting beneath the rogue would be enough to bring him down. All too quickly he would disappear into a shadow and they would lose him again until he moved. But time was on their side. He had to keep moving while confusion still reigned.
“Where’d he go?” One shrike asked his voice almost breaking.
“He’s in there I tell you.” A colleague answered angrily pointing to a dark cleft of shadow in the crease between pillar and wall.
No sooner had he finished his words than three bright globes whistled from the patch of shadow ink towards the growing group of pursuers.
A tumble of explosions stole the air and rocked each shrike with the sensation of knitting needles rammed into their brains. They raised their arms, dropping their weapons and screaming as blood leaked from their ear canals.