Bathump. Ba-dham.
Ethan could feel his heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins like molten fire. His hands trembled, but he gripped the sword tighter—knuckles white, sweat dripping. It wasn't just determination fueling his grip; it was survival. His life depended on it. And he knew that. God, he knew that.
The Shadowalker froze momentarily, its form quivering with dark, sinewy energy. Then—like a switch had been flipped—it lunged forward, claws outstretched and gleaming, slashing through the air with deadly intent.
It was just like before.
The beast—a nightmarish blur of shadow and muscle—was bearing down on him. Its jagged claws, wicked and curved, looked ready to shred him to pieces. Last time, he stood frozen, paralyzed. But not this time. No. This time, he moved.
With a single breath and a focused thought, Ethan activated Flash Steps.
Fwoosh.
