A few remained.
Those who could not flee, those who were built for the end of the world. Duke Konstantin's sword glowed with a channeled ice magic, his face set in a grim mask of duty.
Duchess Maren held her daggers, ice dancing on her fingers like cold lightning. Duke Aldren raised a staff, his arcane shields forming a shimmering dome over the retreating crowd.
Caelen stood his ground, a pure warrior with no magic to offer but his steel and his resolve.
"Formation!" Soren shouted, his voice a crack of thunder over the demolition of the hall. "Contain it!"
They tried a textbook pincer. Mages on the flanks, warriors in the gaps, Soren at the anchor. It was a coordinated, tactical response.
But Vetra was not a mindless beast. The creature, the Syvrak that was Vetra, watched them with those six black eyes, calculating the weakest link.
With a speed that mocked its size, the creature's tail whipped out. It didn't strike Soren; it struck Duke Klaus.
