HUFF*
Myra found herself drained, relentlessly firing arrows without a moment's reprieve.
Her fingers, now adorned with bleeding blisters, throbbing with a persistent stinging sensation.
The stiffness in both her arms had escalated to the point of numbness.
The joints in her elbows creaked with each pull of the bowstring.
Sweat cascaded down her blue hair, obstructing her vision yet she persisted in shooting arrows.
Her aching muscles screaming for respite, demanding rest, but she could not afford to yield.
The only reason Marcel, Luke, and Moxley were still alive was because of her, their fate rested on her shoulders therefore she could not afford to rest.
Adding to her burden; she would occasionally loosen an arrow to assist her 11 F-rank companions who were also being overwhelmed by the 16 F-rank knights.
/
A distance away from the archer tower that Myra was occupying, Marcel's trio were being viscously attacked.