The march toward the glinting ridge was no mere journey it was a crucible. Blistering heat rose from the fractured ground, each step sinking into treacherous earth that shifted like loose bones beneath their boots. Through it all pulsed the eerie hum of the realm itself, a jagged second heartbeat thrumming through Sorin's marrow. It was alien, misaligned with his own pulse, yet drawing him forward with an inexorable pull as though the land had already chosen him.
Above, the bleeding sky churned in molten crimson, clouds roiling like a boiling cauldron. The air shimmered with more than heat it thrummed with ancient, predatory power. Every breath carried the metallic tang of blood, laced with the sweetness of rot, clinging to their tongues like an unshakable curse. A distant crackle like bone splintering underfoot echoed through the wind.
They were not alone. Flickers of motion danced at the edges of sight—shadows too swift to pin down, whispers brushing against thought like fingernails on glass. Liora's fingers tightened on her bowstring until her knuckles blanched.
Bram, arm bound but eyes unyielding, marched with the steadiness of a man who had stared into hell and memorized its laws. Kaelith prowled forward with a predator's grace, each step silence itself, while Arienna's twin blades hummed faintly as though already thirsting for blood.
From behind came the pounding rhythm of pursuit—Valrik's Obsidian Fang, relentless as wolves on fresh scent. Sorin knew they would not stop until his blood was spilled. Worse still, the ridge itself was not undefended.
The ground split open in jagged scars. Rivers of molten glass coursed through the wounds of the earth, shimmering with blinding light.
From those fissures rose serpent-dragons wrought of ember and shard, their molten-gold eyes burning with a hunger that felt older than flame. Armored in whirling glass, they moved like living storms, their bodies slicing the air into deadly cyclones. Waves of heat rolled off them, blistering skin, threatening to peel flesh from bone.
"Positions!" Sorin's voice cut through the rising roar. Dren, his shield splintered but his spirit unbroken, braced himself at the front.
Bram planted beside him like a fortress of scar and resolve. Liora's arrow hissed past Sorin's cheek and struck a serpent's eye, bursting it in a plume of molten dust.
The battle ignited in an explosion of steel, screams, and shattering crystal. Kaelith's blade sang, batting shards away before they could sever flesh.
Arienna's twin arcs carved sweeping paths, redirecting streams of molten breath into harmless spray. Sorin's Bone Flame flared white-hot as he vaulted onto a serpent's back, his blade plunging between crystalline scales. The creature's scream shook the ridge, a sound like a mountain splitting in two.
Another serpent coiled around Bram, its grip tightening to crush bone. Sorin locked eyes with him—a vow exchanged without words—and struck in a searing arc, cleaving through its spine. Liora's follow-up arrow pierced its skull, ending the beast's thrashing death spiral.
The second serpent lashed at Kaelith, its shards spinning like a sawblade meant to flay flesh from bone.
He slipped through the killing edges until Sorin's strike shattered the deadly halo, fragments raining like shattered stars. Arienna's blades crossed in a perfect X, severing its head, which tumbled into the molten river below with a hiss.
The silence after was suffocating, heavy with scorched air and dust of glass. Their breaths came ragged, their bodies trembling with the ache of survival.
Then the ground heaved.
From the molten flow rose something far greater—an aberration birthed of the realm's fury. A titan, its body an amalgam of obsidian and bone, veins glowing with the earth's molten lifeblood.
Its eyes blazed with volcanic malice, and with each step the air warped, pressing against their chests as though the titan's will alone sought to crush them. Its growl vibrated not only in the air but in their minds, scraping sanity like a jagged knife.
The ridge loomed ahead, crowned in fractured diadems that glinted like broken teeth against the bleeding sky.
Sorin felt the relic's pull as a fever in his veins, an invisible chain dragging him closer. Behind them, Valrik's warriors emerged from the haze, the Obsidian Fang encircling like vultures. Valrik's gaze locked onto Sorin—a silent promise of blood and ruin.
Sorin wiped the blood from his lips, his voice steady as a blade cutting through heat and fear. "We hold them here. Or no one reaches the relic."
The space between the forces vibrated with raw bloodlust. As the first step was taken, the realm itself seemed to lean forward—hungry for the carnage about to unfold.