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墨書 Inktalez
In the chaos caused by the crossbow, Darius quickly shuttled through the wreckage of Frosty Puppet, his focus clear and determined - the unconscious Gragas. The footprints in the snow varied in depth, showing Darius' urgency and anxiety. When he finally reached Gragas, the tattered cloth covering him had been blown away by the cold wind, revealing his pale and stiff face.
Darius's hands trembled as he gently tapped Gragas's cheeks, his voice filled with urgency and concern. He repeatedly called out, "Gragas! Gragas!" However, Gragas was like a lifeless body, offering no response except for a steady but faint breathing sound. His face was covered in frost, as if frozen in a cold silence.
Darius's eyes flashed with a hint of unease and helplessness. In this icy land, life and death seemed to be just a thin line apart. He realized that if he didn't act quickly, Gragas might never wake up. Darius took a deep breath, his brows furrowed, rapidly calculating his next move. In this cruel battlefield, he had to find a way out, not only for himself but also for the unconscious Gragas.
Darius hoisted Gragas' heavy body onto his left shoulder, his right hand tightly gripping a cloth strip, securely fastening the shackles to his arm. Every step was a huge test of his physical strength, but his will remained unwavering. The white snow in front of him covered the brutal truth of the battlefield - corpses, chaos, and the slowly moving Frosty Puppet. Each step seemed to echo the footsteps of death.
His gaze was firmly fixed on the nearby jungle, the uncharted territory of Freljord, filled with potential danger. However, in their current predicament, he had no choice. Darius knew all too well that in this desolate land, every corner could hide an enemy or an even deadlier threat. But he also knew that in order to save Gragas's life, they had to find a temporary shelter.
Every step Darius took seemed difficult and heavy, bearing the weight of Gragas and the pressure of the war. The cold wind howled around them, seemingly warning of the impending danger. But Darius had only one goal in his eyes - survival. He gritted his teeth and prepared to steadily move towards the jungle. In this icy world, they could only rely on each other and strive to survive.
Darius takes every step accompanied by indescribable pain and difficulty. He carries Gragas on his left shoulder, a weight that is not only a physical burden but also a mental pressure. Gragas' unconscious body feels like a heavy stone, causing Darius's shoulder to feel a tearing pain. Every movement makes his muscles bear immense pressure, as if his bones are protesting.
With shackles bound to his right arm, Darius struggles to move through the snow. His face is marked with signs of exhaustion and pain, and every swing of his weapon feels like a challenge to his physical limits. The cold wind cuts his skin like a knife, and every breath feels like inhaling icy needles. Every inch of his body is burning in pain, and every heartbeat is accompanied by increasing weakness.
The number of Frosty Puppet around seems to be constantly increasing, slowly surrounding from all directions, each step seeming to declare Darius's despair. These cold monsters, carrying the breath of death, continue to approach him. Darius feels an unprecedented sense of loneliness and fear, knowing that his strength is rapidly fading, but also understanding that he cannot fall, he must persevere to the end.
Darius is filled with complex emotions. He feels both anger and helplessness, facing these Frosty Puppet who were once his comrades, his heart is filled with sorrow. But he also understands that his current mission is to survive, to protect Gragas and escape this land of death. His eyes shine with a firm light, despite the immense pain his body feels with each swing of his axe, he still persists, because he knows that this is his duty as a warrior.
Even though Darius possesses the strength and courage comparable to that of a hero, facing the onslaught of Frosty Puppet surging like a tide, he couldn't help but feel powerless. His gaze pierced through the swirling snowflakes and icy wind, staring at the waves of enemies, these bodies that were once warriors, now turned into cruel puppets on the battlefield.
Darius tightly gripped his flail in his right hand, each swing accompanied by pain and exhaustion, but he persisted, constantly clearing out these icy enemies. Each strike seemed to protest every inch of his muscles and bones, every impact pushing him to his physical limits.
This is a tough battle, not only a physical struggle, but also a challenge to the spirit. In Darius's heart, there is not only sorrow for his comrades, but also anger towards the enemy, but more so, there is a persistence in his will to survive. In this silent battlefield, he becomes the only flame, burning with the last will to fight.
Even in adversity, Darius's eyes still shine with an unyielding light. He understands that at this moment, he is not only fighting for himself, but also for the unconscious Gragas, for the enslaved souls. Every swing, every impact, is his struggle against fate, his challenge to the darkness. In the cold wind and snow, Darius's figure appears particularly lonely yet resolute, like an unyielding monument, standing deep in the battlefield.
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