The world above shuddered. Lightning split the heavens in jagged arcs, painting the battlefield in white flashes. Russ tightened his grip on his blade, feeling the Void hum along its edge, eager for blood. Across from him, the colossal Riftborn Warlord bellowed—a guttural, alien roar that made the air itself ripple.
Mira stood beside him, her hands wreathed in flames that spiraled upward like angry serpents. "This thing doesn't die easy," she said, sweat sliding down her temple. "Even by our standards."
"Then we just keep hitting it until it learns," Russ replied, stepping forward.
The Warlord struck first—its weapon, a massive black halberd, cleaving downward with the force of a falling mountain. Russ twisted away, the impact sending shockwaves that split the stone beneath them. Mira seized the opening, hurling a torrent of crimson fire that struck the beast's plated chest. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air, but the Warlord only roared louder, swatting the flames aside as if they were dust.
Russ darted in, his Voidblade slicing a clean arc across the creature's knee joint. Black ichor sprayed, hissing where it hit the ground. The beast staggered, but instead of retreating, it lunged—too fast for something so massive. Its clawed hand closed around Russ's torso, lifting him like a rag doll. Bones groaned under the crushing force.
"Let him go!" Mira's voice cracked with fury. She slammed both palms to the earth, sending a shockwave of molten rock racing forward. The ground under the Warlord erupted, lava spraying upward and forcing it to drop Russ.
Russ hit the ground hard but rolled to his feet, his ribs aching. "Thanks," he muttered, his breath ragged.
"Don't mention it," Mira said, already preparing her next strike.
They moved together now—Russ weaving through the monster's defenses, each slash aimed at exposed joints, while Mira unleashed blistering flame barrages that blinded and burned. But the Warlord fought like a cornered god, each swing of its weapon forcing them to split apart or be crushed.
Then, without warning, the sky fractured.
It wasn't a storm—it was reality itself breaking, a gaping rift opening above them. From it poured shadows, countless and writhing, taking the shape of nightmarish figures. The Riftborn army had arrived.
"Mira—"
"I see them," she said, her tone tight.
Russ's eyes darted from the Warlord to the incoming horde. They couldn't fight both. Not like this.
The Warlord must have sensed their distraction because it let out a chilling laugh and raised its halberd for a final, killing blow. Russ planted his feet, the Void surging through him, whispering of forbidden strength. He gave in.
The world slowed. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat in the dark. Russ moved, his blade carving a crescent of black light through the air. The strike cut through the Warlord's weapon, its arm, and half its chest in one unbroken motion. The beast staggered, a soundless scream twisting its features before it collapsed, the ground quaking beneath its fall.
No time to celebrate. The Riftborn shadows were almost on them.
Mira stepped to his side, her flames burning hotter than ever, painting her face in gold and red. "You've got one more trick in you, right?"
Russ smirked despite the pain in his ribs. "Always."
They turned together toward the incoming swarm, the fractured sky above pouring nightmares onto the battlefield. And as the first wave hit, they leapt forward, fire and void meeting shadow in a clash that tore the night apart.