Time after time, the plain shook violently, each of Loimos's punches made the earth itself tremble, the repeated strikes should have since long turned this place into a canvas of cracks and ravines, but the spirit life kept up and constantly repaired all damage.
Blood and shards of teeth littered the ground around Milo as he under the constant assault of the pure undead, and even then, the quantity present around was not at all representative of the amount of damage he had sustained in just a few mere seconds, as that too was broken down by the realm, and since Milo was constantly healing at a rapid pace, it could go on for a long time.
The pulses of gold he was attempting to manifest so as to throw the undead off him were useless, it was dubious if Loimos even needed to actively guard against them to be unaffected, and the gold that tried to stick to him would rapidly shrivel up and die, incapable of doing anything to the wielder of festering death.
