Elara noticed a gap in the king's rotations. She darted forward, her sword blazing with holy fire, and slashed upward, targeting one of his twisted, floating arms. Her blade cut through, sending a spray of dark crystal fragments scattering across the hall, but the king only laughed—a low, guttural sound that echoed like a curse. As if in response, the dismembered arm regenerated, its jagged edges reforming with the very shadows in the room, now crackling with an even darker energy.
In response, the king began channeling an eldritch spell, his entire body pulsing as tendrils of dark energy converged into a single point above his chest. The energy mass coalesced into an unstable orb that pulsed with violent power, and with a simple flick of his claw, he unleashed it toward them. The orb spiraled through the air, warping and expanding as it closed the distance.
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