The sky above the battlefield had collapsed into a storm of black and crimson. Every breath was a fight against choking ash, every step a gamble between solid earth and a pit of void.
The Sovereign's clash with Kael split reality in jagged seams—but it was the tide that killed.
From the rift-pools of shadow crawled shapes without names: twisted soldiers of smoke and bone, echoes of those already devoured. Their eyes glowed faintly violet, and their mouths gaped open in silent screams as they charged the living.
Darric planted his shield in the ground, slamming his warblade across the nearest phantom. The creature dissolved into dust, but three more took its place. He snarled, sweat dripping beneath his helm.
"Every swing, and they multiply. How do we kill something that isn't alive?"
Lyra stood behind him, her bow glowing faintly with Sovereign-forged steel. She loosed arrow after arrow, each shot slicing through the phantoms like shafts of sunlight through fog. Still, her breath was ragged, her quiver bleeding dry.
"Then we don't waste arrows. We hold until Kael breaks their master."
Isryn's voice cut sharp through the chaos. Her hands were splayed open, strands of light weaving between her fingers as she chanted in the old tongue. The symbols spun into a circle of binding flame, sealing off one of the cracks in the ground. The shadow tide recoiled with a hiss.
"Every breach I close buys us seconds," she muttered, sweat trickling down her temple. "But seconds may be all we need."
The ground shook as one of the larger horrors pulled itself free—a towering silhouette armored in obsidian, its head crowned with writhing tendrils. Darric raised his shield and spat blood.
"Seconds won't be enough against that."
Lyra loosed a volley at its head. The arrows passed straight through. Her curse was drowned out by the phantom's roar.
But then Kaelen's voice thundered from behind them.
"Form the line. Let the shadows bleed."
The old sorcerer strode forward, staff glowing with forbidden sigils, eyes burning with secrets too ancient for the world. He swept his hand across the tide, tearing rifts of flame and void alike, binding them in knots of power that made even Isryn falter.
"You fight the tide," Kaelen growled, planting his staff. "I'll drown its ocean."
Darric braced beside him, Lyra nocked her last arrow, and Isryn whispered another prayer. Together, they stood against the endless dark—while Kael and the Sovereign clashed like gods above.