The Crimson Spire groaned under the weight of their fury.
Lucien and Lucien Prime collided in a shockwave of blood and bone, claws clashing against a sword forged from divine steel, their wings tearing through the air with a sound like thunder. The marble floor of the Spire's grand hall split like brittle paper, jagged shards exploding outward, slicing through tapestries and embedding into ancient columns. Dust choked the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood and the acrid burn of scorched stone. The false moonlight streaming through the Spire's shattered stained-glass windows bathed the scene in a sickly red glow, as if the city of Vyrn itself wept for the battle unfolding within its heart.
