The ascent to Raven's Crown felt heavier with every step. Leylin emerged from the final stairwell into the highest spire of Black Rook Hold, where the fortress opened into a vast circular hall exposed to the sky.
Broken arches framed the heavens above, clouds drifting slowly as if unaware of the slaughter and sorrow steeped into the stone below.
At the center of the hall stood a throne of blackened obsidian. Upon it sat a figure clad in ancient Kaldorei war armor—its surface etched with sigils of command and sacrifice. Though spectral, the armor retained an undeniable presence, as though its wearer still bore the weight of authority even in death.
Kur'talos Ravencrest. His spirit was not translucent like common wraiths. Instead, it burned with a steady silver-blue radiance, dense and resolute. Long hair flowed behind him like a banner caught in an unseen wind, and his eyes—once noble—now glowed with unwavering vigilance.
He rose the instant Leylin stepped forward. "Another demon," Kur'talos intoned, his voice echoing across the broken spire. "Or another grave robber, drawn by the bones of my house?"
Leylin did not answer immediately. He felt it—the soul's structure was intact. No fel corruption. No Legion taint. This was not a monster. This was a guardian.
"I am neither," Leylin replied calmly. "But I will not leave empty-handed."
Kur'talos's expression hardened. "Then you stand where countless others have fallen."
The air exploded.
Kur'talos raised his hand, and the very stones of Raven's Crown responded. Ancient defensive runes flared to life, releasing waves of ancestral magic. Leylin barely had time to erect an arcane barrier before the first shockwave struck.
Boom!
He slid backward several meters, boots carving shallow furrows into the stone.
"Not a mindless spirit," Leylin muttered. "He retains battlefield awareness."
Kur'talos drew his blade—a massive spectral greatsword forged of condensed soul-energy. With a single step, he crossed the distance between them, bringing the weapon down in a devastating arc.
Leylin vanished. The blade struck only an afterimage, cleaving through stone and releasing a thunderous crack. Leylin reappeared behind Kur'talos, fingers tracing a sigil mid-air.
[Arcane Missile]
A concentrated ball of compressed arcane energy slammed into Kur'talos's back. The spirit staggered—but did not fall.
Kur'talos turned, eyes blazing. "Arcane trickery," he said coldly. "You wield it well. But I commanded armies before your kind learned to crawl."
He slammed the greatsword into the ground. Dozens of spectral soldiers erupted from the floor—phantoms clad in Ravencrest livery, charging Leylin with silent fury.
Leylin inhaled slowly. So be it. Leylin raised both hands.
Arcane and Flame energy. Leylin raised both hands.The arcane energy gathering around him shifted, lines of logic interweaving with raw elemental force.
[Evocation], [Arcane Surge], [Combustion] Leylin immediately completed a series of spells.
The phantoms froze mid-charge as the arcane field destabilized their cohesion. Leylin followed instantly, snapping his fingers, [Flamestrike] + [Touch of the Magi].
WHOOSH—
A wave of azure fire swept outward, incinerating the spectral soldiers into wisps of fading light. The flames did not burn wildly; they were precise, refined—designed to erase constructs without damaging the environment.
Kur'talos watched in silence. Then he laughed. "Such control," he said. "If you had lived in my era… I would have offered you command."
He surged forward again, blade glowing brighter with every step. This time, Leylin did not retreat. He met the charge head-on.
Arcane shields layered instantly, absorbing the first strike. The second shattered two layers outright, forcing Leylin to pivot and redirect the blow with fire-enhanced force.
The clash sent sparks and soul fragments flying. Leylin countered with a close-range [Arcane Explosion], blasting Kur'talos backward and fracturing part of his armor.
For the first time, Kur'talos grunted. A sudden ripple of power surged from the far side of Raven's Crown.
Leylin's eyes narrowed. Another presence.
A tall night elf sorcerer emerged from the shadows, robes intact despite the centuries. His expression was stern, his form bound tightly by disciplined magic rather than rage.
"Lord Ravencrest," the newcomer said calmly. "Allow me."
Kur'talos inclined his head slightly. "Latosius," he said. "You remain."
"As do you, my lord," Latosius replied.
Leylin felt the shift immediately. Damage-type caster. Latosius raised his staff, runes igniting along its length. [Dark Blast] and dozens of [Shadow Bolt] aiming at Leylin. Kur'talos's damaged armor regenerated rapidly, soul-energy knitting itself together.
"Tch," Leylin clicked his tongue and continued dodging the spells thrown at him. "So it's a coordinated battle."
Latosius turned his gaze toward Leylin, eyes sharp. "You are powerful," the sorcerer admitted. "But this is the sanctum of Ravencrest. You will go no further."
Leylin smiled faintly. "That depends on how long you can stand."
The battlefield shifted instantly. Kur'talos pressed the attack relentlessly, forcing Leylin into constant motion, while Latosius bombarded him with precise spells designed to limit spellcasting speed.
Leylin's mind raced. Direct elimination of Kur'talos is inefficient while Latosius assists him. He adjusted his approach. As Kur'talos swung again, Leylin allowed the blow to graze his barrier—just enough to disguise his real movement.
He split. An afterimage rushed Kur'talos, while the real Leylin vanished upward, appearing behind Latosius. The sorcerer reacted instantly, erecting layered shields.
Too slow.
Leylin's hand burned white-hot. Full powered [Pyroblast]. The fire pierced through arcane defenses with surgical precision, striking Latosius squarely in the chest. The sorcerer staggered, staff clattering to the ground as cracks spread across his spectral form.
"Enough! I tire of this!" Latosius roared. "Ravencrest, you worthless husk. Ten thousand years have not been kind." Black smoke then appeared near 'Latosius' breaking its illusion showing its true form. A nathrezim. A demon from the Burning Legion impersonating his advisor, a nathrezim named Dantalionax.
"No…No... no…" Kur'talos stammered. "What am I? This is... not...My ancestors... Illysanna! No, forgive me…"
He slowly fell to his knees, dropping his sword, he slowly turned to Leylin. "Help me… Help me, defeat him!"
Leylin quietly nodded. He raised both hands, shimmered with raw, unbridled power. Sparks of arcane energy intertwined with blazing flames, coalescing into a colossal sphere of destruction—an unstoppable fusion of Pyroblast and Arcane Barrage. The air crackled with anticipation as Leylin unleashed his final, desperate attack.
Dantalionax roared with disdain, his voice echoing like thunder across the ruins. "Ha! You think a mortal's feeble magic can stand against the legion?!"
But Leylin's focus was unwavering. With a thunderous cry, he hurled the spiraling sphere of arcane fire and blazing energy directly at the demon.
The blast erupted with a deafening roar, engulfing Dantalionax in a swirling inferno of blazing magic and dark fire. A cloud of smoke billowed outward from the epicenter, obscuring the battlefield in a thick, ominous fog.
From within the smoke, a barrage of shimmering arcane energies shot forth, streaking through the haze like deadly lightning bolts. They aimed precisely at the demon's form, seeking to pierce through the darkness and strike at the heart of his malevolence.