The impact came hard and fast.
The first wave collided with them in a storm of steel and corrupted Magic. Blades met rotting blackened flesh, sparks flying as Aerchon and Saeldir enchanted weapons struck bodies reinforced by dark power.
The undead Elves did not fight like mindless corpses. They moved with discipline twisted into brutality. Their attacks coordinated and their timing precise.
Then the Magic came.
Black sigils flared beneath Elven feet, and the air screamed as spears of corrupted Magic energy charged forward from their formation.
Waves of shadow crashed against barriers raised by Sylmira and Arty, frost-laced wind howled through the battlefield, and arcs of dark lightning split the ruined ground.
Adrien didn't manage to raise his guard before a blast that tore past the barrier hurled him backward.
He skidded across broken stone, coughing as he forced himself back up.
"They can use Magic like this?" Adrien said.
