The Ancient King's blade sang through the air as he pressed his renewed assault, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next like a deadly symphony. Dark ichor continued to weep from his wounds, staining the pristine marble beneath his feet, yet his movements showed no sign of the damage he had sustained. If anything, the injuries seemed to have awakened something primal within the ancient ruler—a savage fury that had been dormant for far too long.
Arthur's shadow armor rippled and reformed around a fresh gash across his shoulder, the living darkness working to seal the wound even as he parried another devastating blow. His enhanced reflexes were all that kept him alive as the king's ancient sword carved through the space where his head had been moments before. The shadow-wreathed blade in Arthur's hands felt heavier with each clash.
