The molten warden fell to one knee, its body cracking apart as the Death Flame consumed the lava in its veins. Each step it took shook the entire chamber, sending molten streams spilling across the ground.
Rhys didn't slow down. He advanced through the heat, the black-red flame in his hand burning steadily. The air warped around him, but he moved without hesitation, eyes fixed on the collapsing warden.
With a roar, the creature slammed its remaining hand into the floor. Pillars of molten rock shot upward, closing in from every direction.
"You cannot burn what was born from the core!" it thundered.
Rhys raised his sword, his tone even. "Then I'll end it another way."
Mana surged. He vanished in a flash—Swift Cut followed by a storm of slashes that blurred through the molten haze. Every strike carved deep, leaving black flame patterns across the warden's body. When it tried to counter, he cut clean through its arm, the lava within turning cold and lifeless.
