Lightning surged as Abram streaked into the sky, his body a living bolt of fury and will.
The air screamed around him as he reformed just behind the Dryad, his body slamming into its back with the full force of his momentum.
The Dryad roared in pain as it was sent hurtling through the air, crashing into the remains of the pillars of the now dead barrier at the edge of the battlefield.
Abram didn't hesitate.
He streaked after it, landing with a thunderous crash just as the Dryad was regaining its footing. Freedom sang in his hand, the blade whining like a thin line of white light that seemed to slice through the very air.
The Dryad lunged, hands outstretched, vines lashing out like giant whips.
Abram was a blur, turning into lightning and reforming faster than most could see. He was like a firefly zipping around a tree, Freedom cutting through the vines like paper.
