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Chapter 40: The Heist (part 2)

The others followed suit, their weapons glowing with magical energy. But fighting in such close quarters proved challenging. Jace\'s daggers sliced through the air, barely missing the nimble wisps.

Rowan\'s sword and shield provided some protection, but he struggled to land solid hits. Nadia\'s bow was nearly useless in the cramped space, forcing her to rely on her clawed gauntlet. Lyra\'s rapier darted in and out, occasionally catching a wisp but often meeting empty air.

Silas swung his hammer in wide arcs, trying to create some breathing room. But for every wisp they managed to dispel, two more seemed to take its place. The constant drain on their energy was taking its toll. Silas could feel his movements becoming sluggish, his reactions slowing.

Just as despair began to set in, Silas felt a surge of determination. He refused to let his friends down, refused to fail when they were so close to their goal. With a roar of defiance, he channeled every ounce of his remaining mana into his hammer.

His renewed vigor seemed to inspire the others. Jace\'s movements became a blur as he darted between wisps, his daggers flashing. Rowan stood firm, his shield a bastion against the spectral assault while his sword lashed out with precision.

Nadia\'s clawed gauntlet raked through multiple wisps at once, her face set in grim determination. Lyra\'s rapier danced through the air, each thrust dispelling another wisp.

Slowly but surely, they began to turn the tide. The swarm of wisps thinned, their eerie light dimming. With one final, coordinated assault, they vanquished the last of the spectral entities.

Panting and exhausted, the group leaned against the tower walls. Silas looked at his friends, noting their pale faces and trembling limbs. They were all pushed to their limits.

"We need to rest," Silas said, his own voice hoarse with fatigue. "Just for a moment, to catch our breath and recover some energy."

The others nodded in agreement, too drained to speak. They slumped to the floor, weapons still clutched tightly in their hands, ready for whatever challenge might come next.

Silas\'s heightened senses picked up the approaching threat before the others. The air grew colder, and an otherworldly wail echoed through the tower. His heart sank as he realized their moment of respite was over.

"Banshees," he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. "They\'re coming."

His friends struggled to their feet, weapons at the ready, but Silas could see the exhaustion etched on their faces. They were in no condition to face another onslaught.

As the first banshee rounded the corner, its skeletal form gliding effortlessly through the air, Silas made a split-second decision. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, and triggered his transformation.

Pain ripped through his body as scales erupted from his skin. His muscles bulged and stretched, bones cracking and reforming. When he opened his eyes, the world looked different – sharper, more vibrant. He towered over his friends, his Leviathan form fully manifested.

Jace let out a low whistle of appreciation, while Nadia and Rowan took an involuntary step back. Lyra, however, merely nodded, a look of grim determination on her face.

The banshees attacked en masse, their ethereal forms swarming around the group. Their wails intensified, threatening to overwhelm Silas\'s companions. But in his Leviathan form, Silas found he could withstand the assault.

He reached out with his mind, tapping into his drain skill. As the banshees drew near, he felt their mana – cold and alien – flowing into him. The spirits shrieked in confusion and pain as their very essence was stripped away.

Silas\'s friends watched in awe as the banshees began to fade, their forms growing translucent and then disappearing entirely. With each vanquished spirit, Silas felt his own strength returning, his mana reserves refilling.

The drain was intoxicating. Silas found himself craving more, pushing his skill to its limits. He pulled at the mana of multiple banshees simultaneously, his body thrumming with power.

Silas and his friends pressed forward, their path now blocked by a swarm of wraiths. These ethereal beings, more dangerous than the banshees they\'d faced earlier, posed a new threat. Their ghostly forms shimmered in the dim light, their hollow eyes fixed on the group with malevolent intent.

Silas stepped forward. He activated his drain skill, reaching out with his mind to pull at the wraiths\' mana. The spectral entities recoiled, their forms wavering as Silas began to siphon their energy.

But the wraiths weren\'t defenseless. They launched a counterattack, their ghostly tendrils reaching for Silas. He felt a bone-deep chill as they attempted to drain his very soul. It was a battle of wills, each side trying to overpower the other.

Behind him, Silas\'s friends rallied. Though still weakened from their previous encounters, they managed to fire off stuttered mana beams. The beams flickered and sputtered, lacking their usual power, but they provided enough of a distraction to give Silas an edge.

The battle raged on, with Silas at the center. He gritted his teeth, pushing his drain skill to its limits. Wraiths dissolved into nothingness as he absorbed their essence, but more took their place.

Finally, only one wraith remained. It was larger than the others, its form more solid. As Silas engaged it, he felt its power. This was no ordinary wraith.

Their contest intensified. Silas could see his own soul being pulled from his body, a shimmering, ethereal version of himself emerging. The wraith\'s hollow eyes gleamed with triumph as it tugged harder.

But Silas refused to yield. With a final, monumental effort, he poured everything he had into his drain skill.

The wraith\'s form began to waver, its grip on Silas\'s soul weakening. With a soundless howl of defeat, the wraith disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but a fading wisp of spectral energy.

Silas stumbled, as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. His friends rushed to his side, supporting him as he fought to maintain consciousness.