The wraith was relentless, its tendrils was weaving through the shadows with deadly precision, its wail was a psychic assault that tested the rune-forged hammer's durability, its weight was a steadfast anchor in his hands.
But Rhoam's obsidian plates deflected each strike with an unyielding force, while his charges crushed spectral bones underfoot, their bond a seamless, instinctive flow as Darius's soulstone blasts seared the wraith's core.
The spire quaked with every thunderous clash, soulstream runes flaring wildly, the instability of a haunting mirror of Ironholt's catastrophic fall.
The wraith's psychic pulses became intensified with its hollow eyes that was glowing with blinding fury, its wail laced with energy that stung Darius's mind like a thousand needles, a chilling echo of the Veil's insidious horrors, but he pushed through with unwavering resolve, his father's courage was a radiant beacon.
