The clash of steel against steel echoed through the cavern, each strike sending shockwaves through the air. Xavier's heart raced as he swung Anathema at the armored figure, the dark energy from the blade crackling with every movement. The figure, towering and clad in black armor that seemed forged from shadows themselves, moved with terrifying speed and precision. Every swing of its sword was a deadly arc of power that Xavier barely managed to block or deflect.
Sweat dripped down his brow, mixing with the cold air as he fought to keep up. The sheer force behind the armored figure's attacks was overwhelming, and for the first time, Xavier felt the weight of true despair creeping into his bones. This wasn't just another fight—this was a battle for his soul, a contest against the very darkness that had plagued him since he first wielded Anathema.