The 'Messenger' saw that shadow fall in his shaky vision, disappearing into the darkness. He took two heavy breaths, pressed his pale, withered hand against his chest, and coughed. The undead spells allowed him to withstand the erosion of magic power at the cost of his life, and once on this path, one can only end up as an undead creature.
And for those who haven't taken that step, all that awaits them is for their lives to burn out into dark sparks. But he sneered, clutching the feeling of strength in his hand, a truth those weak alchemists would never understand.
The massive ghoul turned its head to look at its master. But the 'Messenger' did not spare it a glance, pushing it aside, he loosened his grip, then re-gripped the Skeleton Staff, supporting it on the ground, and bit his teeth, moving forward.
The opponent's 'falling' appearance was different from what he had imagined, but at least the final result was not far off.
