Night Terror and Black Mamba were another set of destruction that fell on the battlefield. The two alone were the core reason why the eastern part of the fray had not swallowed any of their allies under the sheer weight of monstrous numbers.
Black Mamba fought with two long rods, each end honed to a deadly, needle-sharp point, and he wielded them with a wild, ruthless elegance.
Ordinarily, such weapons demanded the control of both hands, but he handled them one-handed, his other hand free to parry, block, or strike with precision.
It was as if his limbs moved with minds of their own, each attack a calculated slice into the enemy ranks.
His strikes were relentless, the rods spinning in his grasp like extensions of his bones, piercing through skulls and torsos with a ferocity that left the creatures recoiling.
A grotesque creature, its face a twisted mass of hollow eyes and slavering jaws, lunged at him, aiming its claws at his exposed flank.
