And even that last grave was barely intact, its edges scorched and cracked from the residual shockwaves of the first two strikes. The skull atop its staff flickered with dim light, as though it, too, knew the end was near.
Ezekiel's pleading turned into a whimper.
"Wait… please… don't do this."
His voice cracked like a fraying rope—thin, fragile, about to snap.
I didn't answer.
I raised my blade.
"No!"
Ezekiel's scream rang out, raw and helpless.
But it didn't matter.
I brought Gravefang down with one final, decisive swing.
The last grave split apart, the rune lines cracking like dried veins as the void energy surged through the earth. The staff exploded in a burst of splinters, the skull atop it shattering midair before it could even hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over.
The smoke rolled in thick, swallowing the chamber in a gray fog, and for a moment, all I could hear was the pounding in my own ears. No chants. No pulsing runes. No humming from the staffs.
