The battle was swift and brutal. The mages fought with precision and power, but they were no match for the ferocity of the black beast.
Fedlimid's movements were savage, his strikes calculated to kill.
He was a blur of claws and raw violence, tearing through them with terrifying efficiency.
Blood soaked the ground as the bodies piled up, and the once peaceful clearing became a slaughterhouse. The earth seemed to tremble beneath his steps, his transformation complete.
As the last mage crumpled to the ground, Fedlimid stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving with exertion. His claws were drenched in crimson, and his eyes glowed with a feral light. The air around him hummed with the dark magicules he had absorbed, swirling like a storm ready to break.
