The Molten Horror lunged, claws slashing wide, and the forest floor erupted under its weight. Eryndor didn't flinch—he surged forward, his body flickering in and out of sight as Lightning Step carried him past the swipe. Sparks trailed off his heels, the air hissing with each burst of speed.
He closed in low, one palm charged with crackling light. "Pulse Step—Second Flow!" He slammed his fist into the beast's foreleg, lightning snapping through bone and molten veins. The Horror staggered, flames bursting from its wound.
But it wasn't enough.
It roared, swinging down with a horned skull. Eryndor ducked, sliding on dirt, but the heat scorched his skin. His body felt like it was burning alive, but his mind was cold—calculating angles, breathing patterns, impact points.
Behind him, Soren screamed and hurled a spear wrapped in frost. It shattered against the Horror's chest, leaving a thin crack across its molten hide. Lyanna followed up, loosing three arrows tipped in silver; they struck the same spot, the crack widening with a hiss of steam.
"Eryndor!" she shouted.
He didn't need more words. His eyes locked on the weak point, lightning coiling tighter around his fists. He sprinted, weaving between the Horror's stomps, his footwork pure martial discipline, the flow his grandfather drilled into his bones.
He leapt.
Mid-air, he twisted—knees drawn in, aura compressed into a single devastating strike. His body snapped forward, heel smashing down in a thunderous Lightning Axe Kick. The blow collided with the weakened chest, thunder cracking across the clearing.
The Horror shrieked, staggering back, molten blood spraying.
But its retaliation was instant. Heat surged from its core, and the ground beneath them split open, fire geysers exploding. One caught Eryndor mid-dodge, blasting him sideways. He hit the dirt hard, coughing blood.
"Stay down!" Callen roared, rushing past with twin curved blades. He darted in a dance of steel, carving glowing streaks across the monster's legs. Each cut hissed, the molten veins flaring brighter.
Another student—a quiet girl with pale eyes—pressed her hands together, chanting. Earth rose in jagged pillars, slamming into the Horror's knees, slowing its movements.
Eryndor wiped blood from his mouth, forcing himself up. His limbs screamed, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. He watched them fight—their panic turned to desperation, their desperation to fire.
And something inside him stirred.
He bolted back into the fray, intercepting the Horror's claw before it shredded Callen apart. His forearm blocked the strike, lightning wrapped tight around his bones. The impact should've crushed him—but his stance held, Eightfold Flow locking his body like iron.
Callen's eyes went wide.
Eryndor growled through clenched teeth, "Move. Now."
With Callen gone, he redirected the claw's force, pivoting with brutal martial precision, and hammered his fist into the Horror's exposed side. The blow landed like a cannon shot, lightning detonating on impact. The monster screeched, collapsing one knee into the dirt.
The others didn't hesitate this time. Arrows, blades, spells—they all converged. Sparks of courage lit the night.
But still, the Horror didn't fall.
It raised its head, molten veins pulsing like a heart about to burst, and with a roar, flames gushed outward in a blazing shockwave.
Eryndor braced, aura flaring to shield those behind him. The fire slammed into him, searing flesh, burning his lungs—but he stood firm, arms crossed, lightning splitting the flames around him.
His body trembled, nearly breaking—
But his voice cut through the chaos, hoarse yet unyielding.
"On me. We finish this… together!"