No, Not them.
The rest of Tharion's comrades—26 figures in total—were standing still, their gazes fixed on Zarenth's duel.
They were distracted.
Kael's body screamed in protest as he forced himself to his feet, his limbs trembling with exhaustion.
"Move. You have to move,"
His hand tightened around Aethral Fang, the legendary blade whispering in his mind.
The adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the pain as he staggered forward, his vision narrowing on the approaching monsters.
"You're not touching them," Kael growled, his voice barely above a whisper.
The monsters turned toward him, their soulless eyes gleaming.
Kael raised his sword, the blade's dark energy flaring to life.
The whispers grew louder, urging him forward.
"Devour them," Kael muttered, his voice filled with cold resolve.
The blade responded, its surface rippling as if alive.