The golems blast themselves into fragments, unleashing waves of negative energy. It took only a second to hit Soul Reaver, but he recognizes its signature from his earlier encounter with the Shaiton Lord.
Soul Reaver had long learned to channel his emotions to his own benefit, and knowing what he did now, he allowed the surge of anger to find expression and focus through him, lunging forward into the retreating Shaiton ranks, slashing and tearing through them with elevated ferocity.
His Daemonic allies, strangely, did not seem too affected by the wave - short of a subtle widening of Blightwing's fanged grin. Perhaps their nature was such that increased hatred and anger was not even within the realm of possibility?
Soul Reaver's spell, meanwhile, shifts in its nature. With a deafening crack the ground heaves upward, opening a web of deep fissures that swallow those Shaiton too slow to leap to safety. The cold rain turns into freezing, razor sharp shards of ice the size of daggers, driven by the gale-force winds straight at the enemy, yet somehow missing Soul Reaver's allies by a hair.
Soul Reaver's rage subsides, and he slows his assault, leaving the ground behind him littered with bisected Shaiton corpses. He turns his head - how did his companions fare?
