The ground trembled with every pulse as the Rods of Jivrel continued to drive pure, saturated Eidra deep into the earth—stirring the beast from its slumber.
Standing at the heart of the battlefield, the three Battlemasters gripped their weapons, each one humming with lethal eidra energy.
Their eyes were locked forward, senses were sharp as a razor, as they awaited for the beast to emerge.
The final battle was about to begin.
As the final burst of rods pierced the earth, a hush fell over the battlefield.
Then it came—ominous whispers seeping into the minds of the soldiers and Battlemasters alike.
"Did you hear that…?"
"I-I can feel it inside my head!"
The voices prodded at their thoughts, writhing like tendrils through their consciousness. Sharp, invisible needles jabbed at their minds, a thousand punctures all at once, driving pain and confusion deeper with every breath.
Whatever this beast is—it definitely has a good hold on corrupted Eidra energy.
Yet for the Battlemasters, the whispers were little more than a mild irritation—their Eidra far denser, sharper, and more tightly controlled than that of ordinary soldiers of Zerafhon.
The same could not be said for the ranks of soldiers.
Their inferior Eidra left them exposed, vulnerable to the psionic assault of the beast—that gnawed and dug deep within their minds.
"Urgh—get out of my head!"
"Argh!"
Winces and grunts of pain echoed across the field, every soldier clutching their head with both hands—desperately trying to withstand the assault.
Yet the psionic attack was relentless, brutal, and merciless.
"Erenhold!" Mezra snapped, her voice sharp with urgency.
Erenhold didn't hesitate as he knew the seriousness of the situation.
His hand darted into his coat, pulling out a scroll stamped with a dark violet seal.
This was no ordinary artifact.
It was a relic commissioned for this very moment—crafted by House Nythrael, a bloodline renowned for their mastery over Eidra manipulation.
A family of true Eidrics.
Erenhold's hand cracked with energy as he swiped the seal in half, releasing the dense Eidra power from within—casting a dark violet glow that spread through the air.
"This Eidra…" Merilyn muttered, her eyes narrowing.
"It's from Nythrael." She turned to Mezra, her expression unreadable.
"House Nythrael isn't known for sharing their possessions," Merilyn said, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips—a smirk.
"How curious indeed, sister."
Mezra scratched her head, looking at the scroll with a quiet exhale. "Let's just say, I owe them a favor for this one," she replied, her voice low.
The violet glow of the scroll pulsed in the silence, and the tension in the air thickened. A distant rumble beneath the earth warned of what was to come.
As the scroll fully unfolded, a blinding violet light burst from its surface. A loud crack followed, and the energy from it spread quickly—wrapping a wide area in a protective field of violet Eidra.
The whispers and mental needles that once tortured the soldiers faded, blocked completely by the barrier.
"I-It's gone!"
"Damn this beast!"
"Now, commanders—charge it to the maximum!" Mezra shouted, her voice sharp.
At her command, the officers moved without hesitation, boosting the rods of Jivrel to their limit. Even more saturated Eidra surged into the ground, making the earth tremble harder beneath their feet.
"Take this as payback, fucker!" exclaimed one of the commanders manning a rod.
The ground started to split apart, unable to withstand the overwhelming Eidric energy forced into it. The voices from below grew louder, more distinct—but they no longer caused pain, thanks to the protective barrier from Erenhold's scroll.
"Anytime now," Mezra muttered under her breath.
She lifted her sword—Flarethorn—high into the air.
Its blade blazed brilliantly, the golden and crimson serpents coiling around it seeming almost alive, dancing with the flames that radiated from its core.
After a few tense moments, the ground bulged and cracked before violently splitting apart with a deafening bang.
A colossal, grotesque hand—covered in twitching tendrils and dotted with countless blinking eyes—burst out, slamming down near the soldiers.
"There it is!" Merilyn shouted, her eyes wide with excitement. "I've never seen one before. How amazing!"
Another crash followed as the creature's second arm tore free, the beast slowly heaving itself upward. Its body was a mass of writhing tendrils and shifting eyes. Its head was nothing but a giant, pulsating eye, surrounded by trembling, hairlike fibers that quivered as it released a deep, visceral roar.
Though half of its body still remained underground, Mezra knew this was the moment to strike.
She raised Flarethorn high and snapped it forward, her voice cutting through the chaos.
"Now—attack!"
At her command, the soldiers unleashed their full firepower, filling the air with a storm of energy blasts. At the same time, Merilyn, Erenhold, and Mezra leapt forward, their weapons drawn, charging straight toward the monstrous creature.
With a swift twirl of Zaepherax, Merilyn launched herself upward toward the towering beast. The crimson winds spiraling around her glaive thickened, pulsing as they gathered even more Eidra into the weapon.
The monster let out a guttural roar, its giant eye twitching as it locked onto her. With a shudder, it swung its massive arm, tendrils whipping through the air like snapping vines, trying to seize her mid-flight.
But Merilyn, quick and precise, twisted her body in the air, narrowly evading the grasp of the writhing appendages as she closed the distance between herself and the creature's head.
"Haha, show me what you're made of—beast!" Merilyn shouted, a wild gleam flashing across her face as excitement coursed through her.
Though she had long since become a protective mother figure to many, deep within her still burned the spirit of her younger days—when she roamed far and wide as a fearless adventurer.
Back then, there was no thrill she loved more than one thing,
Monster hunting.
And now, facing a creature born of nightmare and corrupted Eidra she had never encountered before, that old flame roared back to life.
"Ah… there she goes again—just like the old days," Mezra sighed, placing a palm over her brow as she watched.
Erenhold simply shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips, before leaping after Merilyn toward the beast.
And so, under the burning skies of Chasmratt, the three siblings of House Sorellia charged into battle—standing together against a terror that had long festered beneath the planet's scarred surface.
At first, it seemed as though nothing could stand against them.
Merilyn's glaive, Zaepherax, danced with roaring winds, carving through tendrils like a tempest given form.
Erenhold's chain-blades whirled and cracked through the air, striking with ruthless precision as they tore into the beast's writhing flesh.
Mezra's thorned sword, Flarethorn, blazed with golden-crimson fury, its serrated edges rending and burning with every strike.
The soldiers roared alongside them, their attacks continued to hammer the beast as it released a visceral scream that announced it's pain.
For a brief moment—victory felt within their grasp.
Yet beneath the clash of weapons and the crackling of unleashed Eidra, something deeper began to stir.
A whisper lost beneath the chaos.
A rhythm not yet seen, but felt—a slow, ancient heartbeat swelling beneath the earth.
It watched.
It waited.
The true storm had not yet begun.
A child of Ikrax has awoken