He looked up once.
The ritual was dying.
And Vareth saw him.
The general didn't roar this time.
He didn't threaten.
He just ran.
Boots shattered stone underfoot. The hammer dragged sparks behind him like a comet made of broken souls. Runes across his arms flared—bright, unstable. No control. Just blood-deep fury.
Leon didn't step back.
"Form on me."
Nyrexis answered first, appearing in front of him like a shadow peeled from light. Bladewraith took the flank—its rebuilt form still flickering, ribs barely fused, one blade already burning with charge.
Vareth didn't slow down.
The first clash came fast.
Nyrexis braced—sword horizontal, stance locked.
Too slow.
Vareth's shoulder hit him like a battering ram. The blade caught the side of the hammer—glanced off. The full weight followed through.
Impact.
Nyrexis slammed through a wall of jagged stone—vanished behind it in a burst of dust and fractured debris. No sound followed.
