Alaric stood over the three Phantom Assembly members, his breath misting slightly in the cool autumn air. The clearing was quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. He looked down at the trio, their expressions a mix of pain and defeat. He had to move quickly; they wouldn't stay down for long, even with their magical cores severed.
"Alright, let's get you out of here," Alaric muttered, more to himself than to them. He glanced around, ensuring no one was nearby, then softly uttered, "Strength of the Ox."
A warm, tingling sensation spread through his muscles, enhancing his strength. The spell was one of his favorites, simple yet effective, and he had mastered it to the point where a mere whisper was enough to activate it. He felt his limbs grow heavier, more powerful, as the magic coursed through him.
