Rozho, with his wild green hair, danced on the edge of the battle, surrounded by five formidable vampires. His emerald eyes focused, a determination etched in the lines of his face. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows, and the tension in the air was thick.
The golden glow of Rozho's sword intent illuminated the dusk, its ethereal light flickering with each move. He stepped forward, and the sword intent followed, a shimmering extension of his will. With a flourish, Rozho's biceps twitched as he swung his sword in a dazzling arc. The golden glow intensified, the air itself seemed to hum with the sharpness of his intent.
