Zane hovered in the air above his rivals who gazed upon him as if they were witnessing the specter of death himself. His armor and weapons had been upgraded to the maximum level, his gear was black as the night itself, and yet exuded a shadowy miasma across every level, his cloak was the same his mother had given him all those years ago, worn, tattered, stained with dried blood.
His sickles were forged of blackened metal, wrapped in black leather, chains forged from the same substance as the blades themselves bound them to his hands, while at the end of them were bleached and polished skulls dangling with the wind.
Runes in bright white light were glowing across the edges of the blades, in contrast to the dark aura that exuded from the edge. His hood was pulled up, and wrapped around his face in a way that concealed his identity, but his blood-red eyes were glowing with the rage and fury of a man who had clawed his way from the depths of hell to be here today.
