The sudden silence that fell over the battlefield was deafening in its own right, a shroud of eerie calmness that seemed to mock the echoes of the raging battle.
The cloaked vortex, once a whirlwind of obsidian fury, slowly spiraled back, shrinking to its original form. It returned to Zed, who stood a short distance away, with an air of haughty satisfaction, like a victorious gladiator emerging from the arena. It fluttered lightly onto his shoulders, its shadowy folds settling down smoothly against his skin.
"Good boy, good boy..."
Zed patted himself on the shoulder.
At the same time, the Vampire Blade, stained with the lifeblood of its victim, slid back into Zed's grip. The crimson runes that adorned its blackened hilt dimmed, their once vibrant glow now a mere flicker. The weapon was sated, its thirst for the beetle's essence quenched. A sense of contentment seemed to radiate from the Blade, the eerie silence whispering of a battle well fought.
