The ancient chamber trembled, dust cascading from cracked stone arches above as Arthur summoned his sword. Darkness coalesced around the blade, writhing like living smoke before solidifying into a thin, obsidian filament along the edge. The dark steel—already formidable—transformed into something otherworldly, something that could slice through solid rock as effortlessly as parting water.
Arthur's muscles tensed beneath torn garments. His shadow arm gripped the sword's hilt with unnatural strength. The corrupted limb pulsed with veins of midnight, sending waves of cold power through his entire being.
He drew a labored breath, lungs burning from exertion, and planted his foot forward. The stone floor beneath him cracked, spider-web fractures racing outward from the impact point. For a heartbeat, Arthur remained still—gathering the newfound strength that coursed through his altered body.
Then he moved.
