The walls of the Hollow Spire trembled as the shadowy Veilspawn surged like a dark tide. Their forms shifted and twisted — a grotesque dance of smoke and sinew, eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.
Kael's crimson mark burned hotter than ever, searing against his chest. Ashrend pulsed in response, the blade humming with a deadly promise.
He planted his feet firmly and whispered, "No mercy."
The first Veilspawn lunged, a writhing beast of claws and teeth. Kael met it with a thunderous roar and a sweeping slash. Ashrend sang as it severed the creature's head cleanly — a flash of crimson fire marking its fall. The head hit the ground with a dull thud, and the body convulsed briefly before dissolving into ash.
Lyra was beside him, twin blades spinning in a lethal blur. Her Crimson Whirlwind cut down foes with balletic grace, but Kael's strikes carried the weight of inevitability — precise, punishing, final.
Darric picked off shadowy archers with his crossbow, shouting warnings as more Veilspawn clawed through the shattered battlements.
Suddenly, a chilling roar echoed through the hall.
From the shadows stepped a towering figure — a Veil Warlord, its form armored in jagged obsidian plates, veins coursing with dark energy. Its eyes burned with malice as it raised a colossal axe etched with runes of decay.
Kael's grip tightened on Ashrend. He could feel the relic's power responding to this presence—his mark blazing like a beacon.
With a roar, Kael charged.
The Veil Warlord swung its axe in a crushing arc, but Kael ducked beneath, the blade slicing through the air above his head. He countered with a brutal strike—Crimson Brand Cleave—and with a flash of red lightning, Ashrend bit through the Warlord's neck.
The sound of the severed head hitting stone was like thunder.
The creature's body staggered, then crumbled into dark mist, dissolving into the very Veil it had commanded.
Kael stood panting, Ashrend dripping with shadowy ichor.
Lyra's voice broke through the chaos, fierce and steady: "We've bought time, but more are coming. We can't hold forever."
Kael wiped his blade clean on the tattered cloak of the fallen Warlord.
"We don't need forever," he said grimly. "We need a way to end this."
Darric joined him, eyes sharp. "And that means cutting off the head of the snake."
The Hollow Spire's great hall was littered with fallen friends and foes alike, but the defenders had held.
Kael looked toward the sealed chamber beyond—where the ancient Sovereign texts lay protected.
"The secrets are inside," he said. "We protect them. No matter the cost."
As the siege raged on, Kael's crimson mark pulsed with renewed purpose. The fight was far from over, but with every stroke of Ashrend, every fallen enemy, the legend of the Crimson Sovereign grew.