His expression transformed from determination to complexity, anger mixed with indescribable pain and struggle.
He gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, his muscles tense to the limit: "No! I will not let you desecrate it! All souls sacrificed for the Silver Moon will not become your playthings!"
Before his voice faded, he suddenly felt a chill rise from his feet, like whispers of a billion departed souls swirling around him, as if claws from the rift in the void sought to drag him into eternal darkness.
The air suddenly became heavy, crushing all senses, but he still stood tall and unyielding, using his will to build a solid defense against the invasion.
The knights standing beside him also felt the powerful evil thoughts permeating the space; some refrained from speaking, some bit their lips, yet not a single one chose to retreat.
