Xasha felt his heart swaying left and right in his chest as it chose today of all days to pump pain and misery through his body instead of blood. His urgent, frustration-filled roar that could make a dragon quiver tore his throat apart. He didn't care about his injury or the fact that he was inhaling his own blood. The coughs, the fits, none of it. All his eyes saw, all his ears heard, and all his brain thought was, "Save her... I have to save her."
A harmonic buzzing rang across the cavern as Xasha's shaking palm clutched his glass sword from its sheath into the world. With both hands on the hilt, Xasha raised the blade over his right shoulder in one smooth movement. The etchings on the blade lit up in a specific pattern that, if one were to interpret, would read, "cleave." Without hesitation, he swung the sword to the left, releasing a bright gold sword aura that looked like a curtain dividing the floor and ceiling into two separate halves.
