Chapter 289 — The Slayer's Ascendancy
The battlefield was fire and ruin. The Hollow had begun the fight with confidence, every plan executed with precision, every blade and spell cutting clean. But now—the tide shifted.
Teren Valcor showed his true strength.
The Duel
Kael lunged, his blade a streak of chaos, but Teren's runed greatsword met it with flawless precision. Each parry sent sparks flying, every counterstrike carrying bone-breaking weight.
"You fight with rage," Teren said, voice calm amid the storm. His eyes glowed faintly, silver runes dancing in his irises. "But rage dulls a blade. Discipline sharpens it."
His next strike tore through Kael's guard. Pain flared as the edge carved across Kael's ribs, scales cracking under its weight. He staggered, wings faltering as the sheer pressure of Teren's aura bore down on him.
Kael's breath came ragged. Teren wasn't just strong—he was measured. Every strike calculated, every step designed to break Kael piece by piece.
And it was working.
The Council Falters
Across the battlefield, the Hollow's momentum began to slow.
Rogan bellowed as his enchanted axe slammed into a zealot, splitting him in two—but for every foe he felled, three more pressed in. His breaths came heavy, his armor slick with blood. "Hold, damn you!" he shouted, but even his voice carried strain.
Thalos moved like lightning, his spear weaving arcs of brilliance. Yet his speed faltered. Cuts lined his arms, his shoulder hung heavy. A priest's spell seared across his chest, and he grit his teeth, refusing to yield.
Varik's shadow cloak flickered, arrows grazing his side. His strikes still found throats, but slower now, his movements weighed down by exhaustion.
Even Lyria's shields strained, cracks forming as the Church's battle-chanters poured holy fire upon them. Her mana burned hot, her voice hoarse from command and spellwork alike.
Azhara's tent overflowed. Wounded poured in faster than her hands could mend. Her chants trembled, desperation bleeding through her discipline.
And Seliora's mana flares slowed, each crystal taking longer to form, her sharp laughter faltering as her reserves dwindled.
The Hollow bled.
Zerathis vs. The High Priest
On the eastern flank, a blinding light erupted—pure, searing, divine.
The High Priest of Saint Ovre had stepped onto the field. His robes were white fire, his staff a beacon of holy radiance. He raised it high, and a tidal wave of light swept across the Hollow's lines, burning away shadows, igniting the earth itself.
Zerathis snarled as the light washed over him, smoke rising from his flesh. "You dare…" His claws curled, dark fire swirling around them. "You wield his gift against me?"
The priest's voice rang like a sermon, calm and thunderous all at once. "Daemon. You are a stain upon creation. Today, your soul will be scoured clean."
Their clash was cataclysmic.
Zerathis lunged, his claws like black firebrands, tearing through air itself. The priest raised his staff, beams of divine light spearing out to meet him. Each strike of Zerathis's fury was countered with radiant brilliance, each step he took seared into his flesh by sanctified flame.
The ground quaked as their magics collided—dark fire and holy light tearing at one another, neither giving way.
Zerathis roared, a sound of pure rage, pure hunger. "You call this light? It blinds, it burns, it shackles!" His voice dripped venom. "I will tear your god's blessing from your corpse!"
The priest's eyes narrowed. His chant rose louder, the ground beneath him glowing with runes of faith.
The duel of faith and fury burned bright enough to light the whole battlefield.
The Duel — Kael Falters
Back at the heart of the field, Kael staggered under Teren's relentless precision. His chaos magic lashed wildly, bending earth and sky, but the slayer cut through it with brutal simplicity.
Kael's arm shook as their blades locked again, sparks cascading between them. Teren leaned close, his calm voice cutting through Kael's ragged breath.
"You are strong," Teren admitted. "But strength without control is wasted. You will break."
And with a brutal shove, Kael was thrown back, crashing into the dirt, blood staining the ground beneath him.
Kael's chest heaved. Pain lanced through every nerve. The Hollow faltered around him, his council strained, his people screaming.
And for the first time in this war, Kael wondered—
Was this the battle he would lose?