A deafening roar marked the start of the battle. William lunged like a hungry wolf into a flock of sheep. His sword, enveloped in a faint red light, cut through the beetles as if they were blocks of butter. Every slash was a beetle killed; no matter where the sword struck, it claimed the life of one of the beetles. Legs, mandibles, and wings flew into the air, accompanied by strident shrieks.
The shattered bodies of the dark beetles didn't fall to the ground. As they were cleaved, they dissolved into a wisp of black smoke that swirled towards his finger, specifically towards the burning flame-shaped tattoo. The energy intoxicated him—a hot, violent, wild force. Every creature he struck down strengthened him: his wounds began to close with unnatural speed, his muscles tensed like forged steel, and his breathing, far from growing strained, became increasingly fierce.
