A pulse of energy radiated outward.
The sand began glowing with sigils—ancient carvings spelling doom in a language long buried.
Elius muttered, "He's regenerating… fast."
He clenched his jaw and called out behind him. "Clint."
The sound of boots crunching into gravel echoed as the sharp-eyed sharpshooter stepped forward, fingers already twitching.
"Six shots," Clint said calmly. "That's all I need."
"Balkan," Elius said.
A rumble answered before the man himself spoke.
"Already summoning," Balkan grunted, slamming both hands to the ground.
A ripple of spiritual energy burst outward, and then—
From a rift of cracked space, a horned beast emerged. Towering. Hunched. Covered in purple obsidian scales and steaming from its maw.
The Dreadworm Titan.
Its twin horns crackled with black lightning. Its claws dragged across the battlefield with grinding hunger.
Elius finally looked to Monkaar.
The boy cracked his knuckles, his smirk wide. "Time for a solo, huh?"
