The Titan's foot descended like a falling mountain.
Soldiers scattered in terror, formations breaking apart as the sky itself seemed to vanish beneath its massive sole. Eryndor didn't move. His legs shook, his ribs screamed, but his fists clenched until sparks bled from his knuckles.
"Move, boy!" a commander roared from somewhere behind him.
But Eryndor's eyes locked upward, unblinking. He couldn't outrun it. Not this time. He could only meet it.
He pulled everything inward—every crackling thread of storm, every shred of will left in his frame. His body burned, arcs tearing at his skin as if the lightning itself rebelled against him. Yet he held on, teeth bared, heart pounding like war drums.
And then he struck.
His fist shot skyward, wrapped in lightning so bright it split the dawn.
The ground buckled. The Titan's descent slowed, halted by an explosion of thunder that rippled across the battlefield. Soldiers fell to their knees, clutching their ears, as Eryndor's body braced beneath the weight of the impossible.
His knees sank into the dirt. His arms screamed. But he pushed back.
And for the first time, the Hollow Titan staggered.
Gasps broke across the lines. The Crimson Halberdiers—so disciplined in the face of anything—stood frozen, their formation broken by disbelief. The Skyfire Legion ceased their chanting mid-syllable. Even the Drakebound Order, circling above, faltered, their drakes screeching as if shaken by the very storm below.
A single man had forced the Titan to stumble.
But Eryndor wasn't celebrating. His lungs burned with every breath, his vision blurred, his storm flickering erratically. He could feel it—his body was seconds from collapse.
"Not yet," he muttered through clenched teeth, sparks crackling at the edges of his mouth. "Not while you're still standing."
The Hollow Titan roared.
It lifted both arms high, sunlight vanishing behind them, and brought them crashing down toward Eryndor like twin hammers meant to crush an insect.
Eryndor dropped low, Pulse Step carrying him sideways in a crack of thunder, the arms slamming into the ground where he had been. Stone shattered, trenches ripped through the plains, soldiers tumbling into the ruptured earth.
He landed hard, knees bending deep, body trembling. He had no time to think. The Titan's head dipped low, its burning eyes locking onto him, and its maw opened with a sound like grinding mountains. A blast of energy surged outward—a shockwave of hollow light.
Eryndor raised his arms, Storm Veil flaring to life around him. The light crashed into the barrier, shredding it instantly, hurling him backward across the battlefield. His back slammed into the fractured palisade, the impact jolting every nerve in his body.
He tasted iron. Blood ran down his chin.
But his eyes still burned.
Something inside him cracked—not his bones, not his skin, but deeper. The storm within him, strained and chained, tore free of its restraints.
Lightning erupted from his frame in wild arcs, splitting the ground around him. The soldiers nearby stumbled back, shielding their eyes as the world turned white-blue.
Eryndor rose slowly, sparks crawling across his shoulders, his arms, his chest. His wounds glowed with faint threads of energy as if lightning itself stitched him back together.
The Hollow Titan's head tilted, its burning eyes narrowing. For the first time, it hesitated.
Eryndor flexed his fingers. Sparks hissed between them. His voice was low, but it carried across the battlefield.
"You've had your turn."
He vanished.
Not a step, not a blur—vanished. Pulse Step, but sharper, refined, his body moving faster than the eye could follow. He reappeared against the Titan's knee, fist slamming down in a thunderous arc. The joint buckled, stone fracturing as cracks shot up its leg.
Again—vanished, reappeared at its torso, lightning bursting outward in a chain that leapt across its frame. Chain Surge lit the Titan's body like a storm-born lattice, energy burning through its stone hide.
The Titan howled, stumbling backward, earth collapsing beneath its weight.
Eryndor dropped to the ground, chest heaving, but his eyes were steady, his storm unbroken.
"Now!" a voice bellowed—one of the generals. "Strike while it falters!"
The armies surged again. The Crimson Halberdiers closed in, their halberds driving into the cracks Eryndor had made. The Skyfire Legion unleashed torrents of flame into the exposed fractures. Above, drake riders dove, their weapons gleaming as they stabbed at the Titan's head and shoulders.
For the first time, the Hollow Titan staggered not because of its own movements, but because it was being pushed back.
And at the heart of it all stood Eryndor—bleeding, battered, but burning like the storm itself.