The bloodshed was getting more and more brutal. Aldanith has turned to one of the darkest forms of magic - the one that ripped the very bones from the bodies of the goblins, tore their veins and corrupted their flesh.
He still used his scimitars, and caused chaos in the hordes of confused and scared goblins. They were beginning to run away from what seemed like a couple of shadows, slaying their ranks, something that killed but couldn't be killed.
Aldanith stood atop a pile of corpses, and instead of goblins attacking him, he had to start reaching after them. It appeared as they were trying to escape rather than be victorious in something that was anyway an uneven battle... Without any use.
They'd all die in the end, and Aldanith grinned at the thought.
It indeed happened, and soon there were no more goblins to slaughter. Aldanith looked down at something, snarling under his feet. One of the creatures was slowly crawling away, leaving a long smudge of blood behind itself. The dark elf's metal hand clenched around its neck and broke it, grabbing the skull and ripping it out with the spine, hanging like a bizarre tail. It dripped with blood, and Aldanith's cold, hard laughter, resembling a vicious crow, echoed in the cave while his hands, covered in the black goblin blood, ran over his mask, coloring the already dark surface even blacker.