"Desperate Strike!"
Marcus was not about to sit there and wait for his end. He had never been the type to accept being trapped without at least trying to break free. Switching weapons in one smooth motion, he drew a longsword, poured every last drop of strength and intent into a Desperate Strike, and hurled the blade straight toward the swirling mass of the Black Raven Cloak above him.
The moment the sword entered the cloak's domain, the demonic energy thickened violently, pressing down like a suffocating wall. The air itself seemed to scream in protest. Then came a sharp, nauseating CRACK. Before the blade could even brush the fabric, it shattered into splinters, the fragments scattering uselessly through the mist.
Marcus nearly wanted to cry.
