The cavern floor gave way with a deafening crack.Stone sheared like wet paper, chunks of rock tumbling into a yawning abyss glowing faintly green from the shaman's four altars far above. The group fell—not into darkness, but into a deeper hell lit by veins of black flame coursing through the walls.
Gideon landed in a crouch, claws scraping the stone, breath ragged but eyes blazing. The shaman's pressure was suffocating, yet the will to fight burned hotter than the pain.
Kaelvryn… I need more, he growled inwardly.
The ancient voice within him stirred, a rumble like iron grinding against stone. Then take it. Shed what you cling to, and claim what you were meant to wield.
In Gideon's hands, the twin axes flared—one bathed in deep crimson, the other in icy blue. The light spiraled around the hafts, warping their shape. The handles lengthened, blades twisting and straightening into new forms:
One became a long, elegant katana, its crimson edge shimmering like blood caught in moonlight.The other shortened into a curved blade, half its length, perfectly weighted for speed and precision.
They fit his grip as if they had always been there. The weight, the reach, the flow—everything was sharper, faster, more instinctive.
Thank you, he breathed across the bond.
Kaelvryn's reply was a deep, satisfied hum. Now fight as you were born to.
Beside him, Eliakim rose. The chains at his wrist glowed not just with light, but with purpose, each link burning like molten silver. His breathing steadied; his eyes sharpened. The bracelet's treasures—every fragment of skill, knowledge, and instinct it had gathered—poured into him in perfect unison. Body, heart, and mind synchronized until he moved without thought, his will and the weapon becoming one seamless entity.
Ezra froze mid-cast, her magic faltering. Nathaniel, whip coiled tight in his hand, forgot to move.
They exchanged a glance—both seeing the same truth.
"This…" Ezra whispered under her breath, unable to finish the thought.
Nathaniel's jaw clenched. They're in a different league.
Eliakim and Gideon advanced together, not speaking, not even needing to look at one another. Gideon's new blades blurred, crimson and blue arcs cutting through shadow-beasts that lunged to block them. Eliakim's chains lashed with impossible precision, each strike predicting where the enemy would be before it moved.
To the others, it looked like invincibility—like the shadows had finally met something they could not overcome.
But the shaman only smiled.
Above, the green fire rumbled, and the air itself seemed to warp.
The temperature dropped so sharply that the air frosted in their lungs. Shadows twisted into forms—some almost human, others grotesque hybrids of fang, claw, and nightmare. Every step forward was met with a tide of living darkness.
Gideon charged first, his crimson katana sweeping in a clean, lethal arc. The blade sang, its edge cutting through a hulking shadow-beast's horned head with surgical precision. His shorter blade followed instantly, carving upward in a vicious cross-strike that left an afterimage of red and blue in the air.
The creatures came apart as if the world itself had sliced them.
Eliakim moved beside him, chains unfurling like serpents of silver light. His strikes weren't wild; they were inevitabilities. A chain lashed out, coiling around a shadow's neck before snapping tight with bone-crushing force. Another wrapped around a clawed arm mid-swing, yanking the creature forward into Gideon's waiting blade.
Each movement between the two men was timed to perfection—an unspoken rhythm only they could hear.
Ezra finally broke her trance, mana surging wildly through her hands. Her magic erupted in a devastating arc of pale violet, burning through a wave of shadows—but the recoil nearly knocked her over. She gritted her teeth, struggling to hold the power, flames sparking uncontrollably along her arms.
Nathaniel's rose-stem whip cracked through the air, thorned coils ripping into shadows with wet, tearing sounds. His strikes were elegant, his movements impossibly fast—yet even at full speed, he felt like a ghost trailing behind the unstoppable momentum of Eliakim and Gideon.
Skyling was everywhere at once—her wings a storm of molten feathers, fire tracing every beat. She dove, scattering shadows with blasts of searing heat, her body wreathed in a brilliance that was almost painful to look at. Every time she struck, the flames seemed to sharpen, her shape refining toward something regal, something ancient.
But for every beast they felled, two more rose from the cracks in the ground. The shaman's voice, low and guttural, echoed through the cavern walls, each syllable a hammer strike against the air.
The floor began to quake.
Four massive shadow forms erupted from the outer edges of the cavern—guardians, each one as large as a siege tower, their eyes glowing with cold, emerald light.
Gideon didn't hesitate. I'll take the one on the left.
We move together, Eliakim's mind replied, already adjusting the angle of his approach.
The first guardian swung a clawed arm down with enough force to shatter the stone floor. Eliakim rolled aside, a chain snapping upward to hook around its wrist, locking it in place just long enough for Gideon's katana to shear clean through the joint. Black ichor sprayed like molten tar, sizzling where it hit the ground.
The second guardian charged Skyling, but her wings folded in, and she shot forward like a comet. The impact was blinding—a thunderclap of flame that drove the beast backward in a shower of molten stone. She didn't even slow, diving again before it could recover.
Nathaniel and Ezra fell into a rhythm of their own—Ezra's magic blasting swaths of enemies into vapor, Nathaniel's whip slicing apart those who slipped through her reach. Yet even as they fought, their eyes kept darting toward Eliakim and Gideon.
We can't touch that level, Nathaniel thought grimly, snapping his whip around a shadow-beast's neck and yanking hard enough to tear it in half.
Ezra didn't answer—but her clenched jaw said she agreed.
The shaman lifted both hands. The cavern ceiling split, and the shadows they had been fighting suddenly froze… then began flowing backward, pulled toward him like water sucked into a drain.
The shaman's body swelled, his form twisting, robes stretching over a frame that was no longer entirely human. Horns of obsidian jutted from his head, and his eyes became pits of emerald flame. The ritual circle erupted in a pillar of black fire so high it carved a hole into the rock above.
The guardians roared in unison.
Skyling's flames flared brighter still, her silhouette sharpening until she seemed more phoenix than hawk—feathers like molten gold, eyes like burning suns.
Eliakim's mind locked with Gideon's. No words, just the shared understanding that this was it—the point where the fight either ended in victory or consumed them all.
They charged.
The shaman met them halfway.
The impact was like a collapsing star.
Stone shattered, light and shadow exploded, and the cavern shook as if the earth itself wanted to flee the clash.