My stomach lurched at the sight, staring at the mangled remains dissolving into mist. The Phantom giant's voice echoed in my ears—mocking, heavy, final. I had seen men die before, but never like that. Not so helpless, not so utterly consumed.
My hands tightened on my sword hilt. A Grandmaster, someone I thought untouchable, had been crushed like an insect. If even they fell like this, what chance did the rest of us have?
I tore my gaze away. If I kept staring at that monster, I'd lose my mind. I forced myself to look across the battlefield, searching for something, anything that resembled hope.
On the far side, the fight with the dwarf Phantom raged. Eleven Grandmasters had committed themselves there too, trying to pin it down.
One Grandmaster lunged in with a skill, a spear of earth bursting upward to impale it. The dwarf simply swung its hammer, and the weapon carried not just force, but a distortion in air itself. The spear crumbled like sand.
