Ilkar's frustration boiled over. His voice cut through the room, sharp and irate.
"Just take him away, for fuck's sake!" His anger was palpable, each word laced with the strain of his desperation and the gravity of the situation.
Without hesitation, Karl's expression hardened with resolve. He extended his hand, his magic swirling around him.
A dark, shimmering aura enveloped Urag's limp form, lifting him off the ground with an eerie grace.
The sorcerer's body floated in mid-air, his earlier manic laughter now reduced to pained, ragged breaths.
Karl moved towards the door, his face set in a determined scowl. As he crossed the threshold, he paused and turned back to Ilkar.
"You know," he said, his voice low but steely, "I'll force him to talk. If there's truly a way to help Eiravyne, I will find it. I swear it."
His gaze shifted to Eiravyne, who sat in stunned silence, her face pale and her eyes wide with a mix of fear and exhaustion.
