"Soul Reaver Domain!"
Wraithshade's immense psychic power exploded outward like a tidal wave, engulfing the entire battlefield in a suffocating sea of mental energy.
Caught in the middle of it, Candlewraith felt like he was drowning in shadows. Ghostly figures swirled around him, and it was as if his very soul was being ripped from his body. A stabbing pain pierced his mind, sharp and relentless, like needles driving into his brain.
He quickly summoned his energy, trying desperately to resist the onslaught.
But Wraithshade had a natural edge over other psychic-type Zombie Kings. His power didn't just overwhelm—it eroded, eating away at Candlewraith's defenses bit by bit.
Candlewraith could feel his mental strength draining fast. He wouldn't last much longer at this rate. If things kept going like this, he'd be in serious trouble.
"Ironhorn! I need backup—now!"
