Eryndor and Vorgath stumbled back, their eyes fixed on the twisted forms of the Shadow Pack. The ritual had changed them, corrupted them, turning them into something new and terrifying. Their bodies seemed to be melting, twisting, and contorting in ways that defied human comprehension.
The pack began to close in, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly energy. Eryndor and Vorgath stood back-to-back, ready to face their attackers. But they were vastly outnumbered. The pack seemed to be everywhere, their twisted bodies pouring in from all sides like a dark, living tide.
Eryndor's dagger flashed in the moonlight, striking true time and again. Vorgath's claws tore through the pack with deadly precision, but for every creature they struck down, two more emerged from the shadows. The pack seemed to be absorbing their blows, growing stronger with each passing moment.
As they fought, Eryndor felt a strange sensation. The land itself seemed to be turning against them. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the air grew thick with the stench of decay. The trees seemed to be twisting, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers to snare them.
The pack seemed to be linked, somehow, their twisted bodies echoing each other's movements. Eryndor saw a pack member strike Vorgath, and then another, and another, each blow landing with precision and deadly force.
Vorgath stumbled back, his claws flashing wildly as he tried to fend off the pack. Eryndor spun around, his dagger slicing through the shadows. But it was too late. The pack member landed a lucky blow, striking Vorgath with a twisted claw.
Vorgath cried out in pain, stumbling back as the pack closed in. Eryndor knew he had to act fast. With a fierce cry, he launched himself at the pack, his dagger flashing in the moonlight.
But as he fought, he felt a strange connection to the pack. They seemed to be linked, somehow, their twisted bodies echoing his own movements. He saw himself in their twisted forms, his own face reflected back at him in their glowing eyes.
And then, in a flash of insight, Eryndor understood. The ritual had not just corrupted the pack - it had linked them, somehow, to Eryndor himself. They were connected, bound together by some dark and ancient power.