The aura of the dead had been something Altair had not expected. Had he not had an average lifespan, then he might have been forced to retreat. Still, the idea behind the aura of anything withering away his life force did not sit well within his gut. He'd initially wanted to conjure a barrier but held off as his omniscience began to explain the aura of the dead to him. If he wanted to block the Aura of the Dead, then he'd have to have the holy blessing of his god or a holy object.
Altair didn't believe it. And he would be right, but due to the limitation of his Arcane Arts, he was limited in what he could do as a mage.
He cursed, riling himself up and preparing to use the blood of the Nephilim, when he suddenly felt the headless Dullahan somehow manage to spot him. Every hair on his body became erect when he saw the undead pull the crusted great axe from his back. The world's dim light waned to a deep black beneath that blades edge.
