At the same time, they prepared for the impending battle,
even though their opponents were mysterious, terrifying, and utterly unpredictable.
Within the pit, as deep as an endless abyss,
darkness churned like thick ink. The deathly silence was like an invisible giant hand,
clutching at everyone's throat.
The Ninjas were like phantoms from the Nine Netherworld Hell, their movements light and erratic.
They zipped back and forth across the void,
each leap seeming to melt into the shadows.
Their forms became as illusory and indistinct as pools of ink, their trails impossible to follow,
as if they had struck some arcane pact and become one with the darkness itself.
In an instant, as these inky figures flickered and leaped,
gleams of cold light shot out like falling stars.
They were Darts, laced with potent poison and thrown by the Ninjas.
Carrying the stench of death, they flew like a dense squall,
