Adam's hand shot forward, dark energy coalescing into a slender, wicked spear. Shadow Lance. The projectile streaked toward Sean's chest, humming with contained power.
Sean twisted, the spear passing close enough to tear through his sleeve and graze his arm. Blood welled from the shallow wound, dark against his pale skin. He didn't flinch. His black eyes remained fixed on Adam, burning with undiminished hatred.
"Secret Shadow Art: Voidwalker's Elegy."
His form flickered, then vanished entirely. No lingering haze—this was true absence, as if he had stepped out of reality itself. The shadows in the forge trembled, and from every patch of darkness, blades emerged. Dozens of them, each one a copy of his cursed dagger, each one aimed at Adam from a different angle.
They flew.
