The Dullahan spurred its horse, slicing through the mist with a cold, silent fury.
The ground beneath Dayat's boots trembled violently. The undead steed—clad in rusted black armor with eyes burning a pale, ghostly blue—neighed shrilly. The sound was unnatural, originating not from vocal cords but from the screech of metal grinding within its throat. Krit... kreet... Its greatsword was raised high, catching a lethal, dim light.
Dayat did not wait for death to come for him. His silver-blue armor flared instantly, purple and green circuits pulsing rapidly across the surface of his protective plating. He lunged forward, his movements swifter than the horse's gallop. The purple-green energy blade in his right hand left an elegant arc of light in the air. Swish!
