The shadows were relentless, emerging from the darkness in droves, their forms undulating and shifting with an unnatural fluidity. But despite their number and the oppressive weight of their attacks, the group pressed on, their resolve unwavering. The air crackled with a blend of elements—frost from Sophie, fire from Sylvanna's arrows, the molten heat from the magma bear, and the raw determination of the knights. Slowly, inch by inch, the shadows began to diminish, their numbers thinning as they were cut down one by one.
Dravis was a blur of black, his twin curved blades slicing cleanly through the air. His strikes were swift, deliberate, each one aimed at the core of the shadow creatures, dismantling them with an ease that left those around him in awe. He moved like a specter, weaving between attacks with almost preternatural agility, his blades glinting faintly in the flickering light of the battlefield.
