Amidst the battlefield's chaos, Volk's towering form loomed like a dark monolith, standing impervious and unyielding.
His bellowing laughter filled the air, mocking the desperation etched on his opponents' faces.
The middle-aged woman and Bong Me-Eon moved with unison born of years of training, flinging spell after spell at Volk, desperately trying to break through his hardened defenses.
The ground trembled beneath them as each spell struck with resounding force, sending shards of rock and sparks of energy ricocheting around them. But for every inch they gained, Volk advanced two more, his massive frame absorbing their attacks with a chilling, unaffected resilience.
The middle-aged woman gritted her teeth, pushing herself harder, feeling the strain claw at her energy reserves.
Her voice rose above the din, "Sarcha Volfoareus!" chanting incantations that twisted the very air with darkness and eldritch light.
