The air crackled with tension.
Ashen tightened the grip on his blade, feeling the heavy thrum of power coiling in his core. Around him, the battlefield stretched like a nightmare: broken stone, churned earth, the lingering stench of burned mana. In the distance, the black banners of the Obsidian Pact fluttered, their forces gathering for a final, brutal assault.
Beside him, Lyra stood tall, despite the leather brace now supporting her healing arm. Her eyes gleamed—not with pain, but with fire. The kind of fire Ashen had come to know wasn't born from anger, but from a refusal to fall.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low.
Lyra gave a fierce smile. "Always."
Their small coalition of warriors—those who had survived the last onslaught—tightened ranks around them. Ashen spotted familiar faces: Garrick, the mountain of a man wielding an axe the size of a tree trunk; Selene, the archer with eyes like moonlight; and Jorin, a young mage with wild hair and a quicker temper.
"They're forming a wedge," Selene said, already stringing another arrow. "Classic breach maneuver. They'll try to split us before we can reinforce the Throne."
Ashen nodded grimly. He could see it now—Kael's forces moving like a stormfront, coordinated, ruthless. Somewhere among them, Kael himself would be waiting, cloaked in shadow, smiling that same cold, mocking smile.
Lyra touched his shoulder, grounding him.
"We hold," she said. "We fight. No matter what."
Ashen's aura began to flare without conscious thought—a low burn at first, then building into a steady blaze. The others stepped back instinctively, feeling the pressure of it. Emberfang's power hummed through his veins, a constant drumbeat in the back of his mind.
He raised his sword high, the blade igniting in a wash of golden-red fire.
"For Viraelon!" Ashen roared.
The warriors answered in kind, their voices shaking the very ground beneath them.
The Obsidian Pact charged.
The first impact was devastating.
Ashen met the front line head-on, cleaving through armor and spell alike. His flame wasn't just heat; it was will, pure and unbreakable. Every swing of his blade shattered enemy formations, every surge of his aura burned corruption from the very air.
Lyra moved at his side, a whirlwind of steel and precision. Even with one weakened arm, she danced between enemies with lethal grace, her blade finding gaps in armor, her footwork impeccable.
They fought like two halves of the same spirit.
Selene rained arrows down in rapid succession, each shot piercing through multiple enemies. Garrick roared, swinging his axe in wide, brutal arcs, clearing space for the spellcasters to work their magic.
Jorin unleashed bursts of lightning, weaving destructive patterns between the enemy ranks.
But it wasn't enough.
Through the chaos, Ashen caught sight of Kael—a dark figure, standing atop a ridge with his crimson blade resting casually against his shoulder. His aura was vast, oppressive, a deep black that swallowed light around him.
Kael lifted his hand—and the real battle began.
A monstrous creature, stitched together from void-twisted mana and bones, erupted from the earth. It howled, its many mouths gnashing, and lunged toward Ashen's forces.
Ashen cursed under his breath. "A Voidborn."
Lyra stepped closer to him. "Together?"
He nodded once. "Together."
They launched themselves at the beast.
Ashen drew on deeper reserves, letting Emberfang's power fully awaken. His flames burned brighter, hotter, wreathing his entire body in an incandescent shroud. Each step he took left molten footprints behind.
The Voidborn swung a massive claw, tearing apart the ground. Ashen ducked under the blow, slicing upward and carving a line of fire across the creature's body. Lyra followed, slashing at its exposed joints, her blade singing through corrupted flesh.
Still, it fought on.
Tendrils lashed out, grabbing warriors and flinging them like ragdolls. Lyra was caught mid-dodge, a tendril wrapping around her waist and yanking her into the air.
"Lyra!" Ashen shouted, heart lurching.
Without hesitation, he blurred forward, flames streaming from his limbs. In a single, blinding strike, he severed the tendril, catching Lyra before she hit the ground. She grunted but nodded her thanks, already pushing herself upright.
"We need to hit the core," she said, breathless.
Ashen spotted it—a dark, pulsing orb embedded deep within the creature's chest. It was shielded by layers of corrupted armor.
"Cover me," he growled.
Lyra didn't argue. She leapt forward, drawing the beast's attention with a flurry of fast strikes, while Ashen gathered his power.
His aura expanded outward like a second sun, the pressure forcing even the closest enemies to stagger back.
With a roar, Ashen launched himself straight at the core, a burning comet of sheer willpower.
The Voidborn shrieked as Ashen's blade plunged into the core. Flames erupted outward in a cataclysmic explosion, engulfing the creature—and everything nearby—in a sea of light.
When the smoke cleared, the Voidborn was gone, reduced to smoldering ashes.
Ashen fell to one knee, gasping.
Lyra stumbled over, bruised and bloodied, but alive. She knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder.
"You did it," she whispered.
"No," Ashen rasped, smiling faintly. "We did."
Their warriors cheered weakly, but there was no time to savor the victory.
Kael began walking down from the ridge, slow, deliberate, his crimson blade igniting with a sound like a thousand whispers.
Ashen stood, teeth gritted.
"It's not over," Lyra said, helping him to his feet.
He nodded. His aura flared once more, but this time it was sharper, more focused—not just fire, but resolve.
"You and me," he said. "No matter what."
Lyra squeezed his hand briefly before stepping back, giving him space.
Kael stopped a few paces away, smiling lazily.
"You burn brighter than I expected, Ashen," he said. "But even the brightest flames can be snuffed out."
Ashen raised his sword. "Try me."
Kael laughed—a cold, bitter sound—and the two clashed.
The battle between them shook the battlefield anew, a clash of titans destined to reshape the very fate of Viraelon.