Thastrum stood amid a tightening ring of demonic souls.
The golden glow of his primordial spiritual energy, once a blazing beacon, now sputtered like a candle in a gale. Each punch he threw felt as if the very air had turned to lead, every motion dragging through invisible shackles that bled his strength.
Beside him. Half-Beast King Imorn wheezed and swayed. Deep gashes cut across the titan's fur-clad flesh, his pupils glassy with fatigue. Only a single, stubborn will kept the monarch upright, a vow not to fall until no breath remained to draw.
"We can't hold them any longer!" the beast race cultivator screamed, voice cracking under terror.
He hurled his battle-axe to the blood-soaked ground, spun, and bolted toward the rear lines, armor clattering like brittle tin.
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