Chains snapped like thunderclaps, each release birthing waves of molten flame that tore across the earth. The air thickened with smoke and ash until every breath burned their lungs.
And from the rivers of fire, creatures began to crawl.
Twisted soldiers of cinder and molten bone, their bodies half-solid, half-smoke. Hundreds of them, their eyes glowing embers, blades and claws dripping with molten slag.
Darric spat, leveling his sword. "Figures he wouldn't fight clean."
Lyra loosed an arrow, the rune-carved shaft streaking through the first wave like lightning. Three fell, but ten more rose behind them.
"Stay tight!" Kael barked, Ashrend igniting with his crimson aura. The blade thrummed with hunger, its edge burning black-red like a star collapsing in on itself. "We cut a path forward."
The swarm struck.
Darric met them head-on, steel singing as molten claws scraped against his blade. He fought with brutal precision, every strike cutting down an enemy, his boots sinking into cracked, flaming earth. "These bastards don't bleed right!" he roared, even as his sword cleaved another in half.
Lyra danced on higher ground, arrows raining in a relentless rhythm. Her shots never missed, piercing glowing cores, each impact shattering foes into embers. Her voice was calm, steady. "Don't waste strength, aim for the centers!"
Isryn raised her staff, her chants weaving barriers of shimmering white that turned waves of fire aside. Each spell left her drained, but her eyes burned with determination. "I can hold their flames back—strike while you have the chance!"
Kael was everywhere at once. He moved like a storm given flesh, Ashrend tearing through ranks of cinderborn soldiers. Each swing was devastating, but not raw: deliberate, honed.
"Crimson Sever—" His blade flashed downward, splitting three enemies in a single cut, their bodies erupting in black ash.
"Fangbreaker!" A horizontal arc ripped through another line, the black-red edge detonating with sparks that ignited the ground.
Every swing of Ashrend carried not just power, but intent: to carve, to destroy, to leave nothing behind but silence.
And still, the Sovereign loomed above, chains falling one after another. Its masked face never turned from Kael, even as the army of cinders tried to drown them.
Its voice rolled like a furnace given speech: "Show me, Crimson Heir. Show me if you are worthy of the throne you seek to usurp."
The companions held tight, shoulders brushing, their formation battered but unbroken. For every wave that struck, they answered with steel, flame, and will.
Kael raised Ashrend high, the Mark across his chest blazing like a living flame. He looked at his companions, then at the endless tide before them.
"We don't break here," he said, his voice carrying over the roar of fire. "We carve through—together."
The Sovereign of Cinders spread his arms wide, fire spilling from his armor like rivers of molten stars.