The chamber seemed to contract, a tangible pressure building as Azuroth, cloaked in shadows, retracted his blade from the depths of Silas's shadow. Blood pooled beneath Silas's feet, a stark contrast to the pale stone. Yet even as the pain threatened to drag him into unconsciousness, Silas tapped into his accelerated neural processing. The world around him stretched and elongated, time dilating until each drop of blood appeared to hang in the air, a macabre ballet frozen mid-performance.
With his perception heightened to an almost unbearable clarity, Silas discovered an unexpected ease in maintaining his balance on one leg. It was as though his body had adapted instantaneously to the loss, recalibrating its center of gravity with preternatural swiftness. The stinging agony from his severed limb receded into a distant echo, allowing him to focus on the immediate threat: Azuroth.
