Zylle Mordan didn't waste a moment on posturing. Her loyalty was to Lord Vortan, her pride was that of an Archmage, and this arrogant boy-lord who held a Queen on his lap like a common plaything was an intolerable insult to both.
Her Archmage aura erupted, a swirling vortex of pure, absolute darkness laced with crackling purple lightning. The temperature in the secluded hall plummeted, and the very light from the grand chandeliers seemed to dim, absorbed by the oppressive shadow.
"You have a high opinion of yourself, Steele," Zylle hissed, her voice cold as the void. "Let's see if your power matches your insolence."
With a sharp, cutting gesture, she unleashed her first spell. "Shadow Coil Constriction!"
Tendrils of pure, solidified darkness, slick and serpentine, shot from the shadows in the corners of the room. They moved with unnatural speed, seeking to ensnare Alaric, to bind his limbs and crush him in their suffocating embrace.
