The shadowy figure trembled violently, its form unraveling like a tapestry being pulled apart at the seams. The dense energy that had once given it shape dissipated into the air, leaving behind nothing but a faint, acrid smoke that hung in the chamber. The oppressive atmosphere began to lighten, though the golden beacon continued to flicker weakly, as if struggling to regain its strength.
Thane lowered his claymore, its tip resting heavily against the cracked stone floor. His shoulders were heaved as he tried to catch his breath, exhaustion can be seen in his crimson eyes.
"What the hell was that all about?" he muttered, his voice rough, frustration bleeding through his words.
