The forest trembled.
Each heartbeat echoed through the soil as Damien staggered to his feet, breath sharp and shallow. His body screamed with pain; blood slicked his ribs and dripped from his palms.
The sky above the Verdant Verge was a swirl of black and crimson light—the storm of Ivaan's unleashed essence tearing apart the air itself.
The general stood before the gate, surrounded by a growing cyclone of dark energy, his eyes consumed by the same darkness that radiated from his core.
The runes carved from beast blood glowed like molten veins across the ground, and the massive sealed gate pulsed like something alive behind him.
Damien knew he was running out of time.
Every instinct in him screamed for him to run, yet his heart roared that he should fight. If Ivaan succeeded, if the seals broke even halfway, whatever lay beneath would consume Delwig and more.
He clenched his jaw, gathering his last reserves of essence.
