High above the frozen expanse, Lord Draegon stood resolute on the icy battleground, his mind racing as he issued urgent commands for his comrades to fall back.
Yet, his directives arrived as futile whispers on the wind, for the creature's colossal fist had already plummeted into the frigid ground.
In a cataclysmic eruption, obsidian tendrils surged forth, like sinister veins coursing through the earth, seeking their prey with ravenous hunger.
With a dancer's precision, Draegon's blade danced through the air, fending off three of the deadly strikes with calculated parries.
Each deflection sent vibrations racing up his arms, a testament to the creature's staggering might.
Nearby, his allies fared less favorably, employing elemental arts – flames, gales, and the very ice beneath their feet – in a desperate gambit to repel the relentless onslaught.
