The undead cast another shield and swiftly retaliated with a curse that spread like a dark net, its strands reaching for his arms and neck.
Elion threw himself behind a rising slab of stone, then drove it forward, forcing the creature to destroy its own incoming obstruction before it could resume attacking him.
The creature's reserves were extraordinary, but they weren't endless.
It was summoning reinforcements, restoring its wounds and defending itself from a swordsman who refused to give it even a moment to recover.
Little by little, the strain began to show.
The first sign was a delay.
Elion's blade struck a barrier, broke it, and nearly reached the undead's throat before the next one appeared.
Previously, the layers had overlapped so closely that he could barely distinguish one from another, but now there had been a gap.
A very small gap.
He smiled.
The undead mage drew back, its spectral eyes narrowing as it raised the staff higher.
