The Lich Arktane waited patiently, biding his time. He knew the immense energy required to wield the Book of Death and understood that Apollo could not sustain such power indefinitely.
All Arktane needed to do was maintain a fair distance, avoiding the brunt of Apollo's attacks, and let his relentless undead summons wear the young warrior down.
From his vantage point, Arktane observed Apollo's every move. He watched as Apollo unleashed powerful waves of icy death energy, freezing and shattering the undead minions that surged toward him. Yet, for every creature that fell, another two took its place, crawling from the depths of the spell circle Arktane had conjured.
Apollo's breaths came in ragged gasps, the strain of maintaining his power evident in the sweat that glistened on his brow. His grip on the Ice Star tightened the sword a beacon of cold light amid darkness. He knew he was running out of time and that the Lich was waiting for him to falter.
