With the horde momentarily held at bay by his icy barriers, Damien swiftly changed tactics. He darted through the night, a blur of movement amidst the cold and chaos.
His footsteps left a trail of frost as he manoeuvred through the undead, using their own sluggishness to his advantage.
Pushing and pulling with precise force, Damien manipulated the undead army like a puppet master orchestrating a grim dance.
His fingers of magic extended, freezing the ground beneath their feet and turning the roads into treacherous pathways of ice. Their movements slowed further, hindered by the grip of winter that clung to their decaying forms.
As he sprinted through the chilled night, his thoughts raced just as quickly. He knew that facing the necromancer without a full reservoir of mana would be foolhardy at best.
