Beams of necrotic energy streaked wildly through the air.
One after another, they relentlessly honed in on Adam's fleeing figure, twisting unnaturally through the skies as though alive. Wherever the beams passed, the air distorted, the earth withered, and creatures were drained of moisture and vitality.
Against the backdrop of the chaotic battlefield, the sorry figure of the Dark King weaved between the incoming necrotic blasts at terrifying speed as the lich and his two monsters pursued him from behind.
He frantically searched the battlefield for his weapon. Alas, amid the carnage, that task seemed no different than finding a needle in a haystack.
He had confidently entered the battle with his newly acquired weapon, but he had lost it only after the first few exchanges. Worst yet, unlike his previous staff, this one couldn't return to him when he called for it.
Dragonshit, he cursed indignantly.
Fighting bare-handed is still the most practical—
