"Go... just as we planned." Allen smirked, a twisted grin etched across his face.
Lying strengthless on the blood-soaked ground, the elders stared up at Allen with dimming eyes. Though weak, a flicker of resolve remained. "At least he'll buy us time to say our last prayers," Cealin thought, his bones broken, his skin bruised, and the ground beneath him a crimson pond.
"Before we start this..." Zarynth said coldly, still in his fighting stance. The black aura around him veiled the moonlight, its pressure snuffing life from even the grass beneath his feet. "Tell me, what species are you?"
Allen's eyes were dark, his grin wide. He could feel the pressure—its weight crushing, suffocating—but his confidence eclipsed any threat. 'Whatever I do, I must not engage. I can't waste any aura.'
Natasha stood behind him, eyes fixed on Zarynth, her mind calculating. Her hands rested behind her back but with purpose. If he suspects a thing, I'm gone, she thought cautiously.
