The dark figure loomed over the group, its form shifting and coiling as if it were made of the very shadows that filled the tower. Its eyes, glowing with a malevolent light, seemed to pierce through the gloom, casting an ominous aura that filled the chamber with an almost palpable fear.
Elara stood at the forefront, her sword held tightly in her hand, its light flickering as if trying to push back the encroaching darkness. Morgana, Selene, and Thorne flanked her, each preparing their magic or weapons, their faces set with grim determination.
The dark figure's voice was a resonant, almost mournful tone, a blend of centuries-old rage and sorrow. "You intrude upon the sanctum of my power, believing yourselves capable of ending what has been woven into the fabric of existence. You are but mere mortals, doomed to fail."
