Kael's sword whistled through the air, silver steel burning with layered enchantments, aimed for the broken boy kneeling in bloodied snow.
Lan's hand rose—shaking, fingers trembling like snapped bone trying to knit.
He whispered, barely audible:
"I didn't want to use this yet."
The heavens tore open.
The clouds above, blackened with thunder and old wrath, cracked with a thunderclap that silenced the battlefield. From the ruptured sky, something descended—not light, not fire—but the shape of judgment made into shadow.
[Rain of Dark Judgment.]
Thousands of obsidian spears fell like screaming stars. Each one etched with ancient runes that flickered red, trailing lines of dark Qi behind them. They rained like the wrath of dead gods, sharp enough to pierce steel, hot enough to melt plate.
They blooted the sun and made daylight night.
