Draven kept his focus absolute, his sharp gaze tracking Sharon's every movement, blocking each swing of her blade with the precision of a master. Each of her attacks was fierce, deliberate, aimed to harm. Her hatred and fury were palpable—an intensity that felt almost unnatural, beyond anything he would have expected from her. Her eyes glowed with that eerie red light, her movements frantic but calculated, each strike carrying a force that could only come from a deeply rooted grudge.
His mind worked quickly, analyzing the situation even as he parried her attacks. There was something about her, something unnatural in the way she moved—like a puppet being controlled by invisible strings. Draven's brows furrowed as he deflected another heavy blow, his eyes narrowing, trying to discern what had taken hold of her. It wasn't just a mere enchantment; it was something far more insidious, something that altered her very essence.
