Galthor had been fighting for what felt like days.
The shadow creatures came in waves, each one carrying its payload of sorrow, each death releasing memories that battered against his mind. He'd lost count of how many he'd killed. Hundreds. Thousands. It didn't matter. There were always more.
His divine aura flickered with exhaustion. His muscles burned with a fatigue he hadn't felt since his rebirth. The entity was wearing him down, not through strength but through sheer attrition.
"You're weakening," the entity observed. Its voice was almost gentle now, like a predator watching its prey tire. "Your anger burns hot, but even fire needs fuel. What happens when it runs out?"
Galthor killed another creature. A woman dying of thirst in a desert, reaching for water that didn't exist. He pushed the memory aside and killed another. A man drowning in a river while his friends watched helplessly from the shore.
