Devon closes his eyes, deep in concentration, and three Spartoi burst from the ground, readying their swords. He stands, drawing his scythe, and takes deep, measured breaths. The skeletons begin to attack him, and he weaves between their strikes and slashes, doing his best to feel their attacks, not just see them. He ducks and avoids the attacks, then spins his scythe, sweeping their legs out from under them, his hands and weapon glowing with purple/black flames.