The throne room trembled under the weight of battle. Smoke curled around shattered pillars, and the air tasted of iron and ash. The Minister stood at the far end, a figure draped in dark robes, his eyes glowing with the violet hue of the Source. He was calm… unnervingly calm, as if he had expected every strike, every feint, every scream.
Draven lunged first, steel slicing through the air. Sparks clashed as the Minister countered, movements precise, almost supernatural.
"You think your swords can undo what's already set in motion?" the Minister hissed, voice like grinding stone. "You know nothing of what you face."
Lucian stepped forward, eyes narrowed, blades poised. "We know enough to end you tonight."
The Minister's lips curled into a faint, cruel smile. "Do you think I am the threat? I am but a key, and you are walking straight into the door I've been holding open for decades."
Melken and Merlik moved like shadows around Draven and Lucian, striking at soldiers and traps with ruthless precision. Every slash, every parry, every drop of blood spilled had been anticipated. But the Minister still had his ace.
With a gesture, he tapped the Source embedded in the floor. From it, monstrous figures rose—twisted, hulking abominations with violet veins pulsing, eyes glowing, claws dripping with unnatural strength. The soldiers had become more than men; they were living weapons.
"Impossible…" Draven whispered, stepping back as the first of the creatures lunged.
Merlik's clouded eye glittered. "Not impossible… expected."
He had prepared them. The grey-oiled blades, the hidden traps, the Crimson Bloom villagers—all parts of a larger strategy. The abominations were strong, terrifying, but they were vulnerable in the Core. Merlik had taught them what to aim for, where the life of the monster truly resided.
Lucian's eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating every angle. "Draven… follow my lead. Strike where I strike. Timing is everything."
And then the clash began in earnest. Steel against claw, strategy against chaos. The Minister's laughter echoed through the hall, a chilling sound that promised annihilation.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes; time had become meaningless. The four moved as one, Melken and Merlik directing the flow, Draven and Lucian striking with precision. Slowly, the tide began to turn.
But just as the Minister seemed cornered, he revealed his true hand. With a low chant, the floor beneath the throne cracked open. A vortex of violet energy erupted, spreading tendrils of corruption across the room. The abominations roared, infused with a surge of power, stronger, faster, relentless.
Merlik gritted his teeth. "He's not just a minister… he's a herald. And the world beyond is already stirring."
The four heroes paused for just a heartbeat. Outside the shattered windows, the lands of the Verdant Veil shimmered with an ominous green light. Something ancient, something alive, was awakening.
The Minister fell—not by strength alone, but by strategy, steel, and sacrifice. Yet the victory tasted bitter. His final scream was a warning, a herald of chaos:
"Even if I fall… the world you know… will burn!"
And with that, the source of his power imploded, sending shockwaves that shattered stone, hurled debris, and opened a gateway to the unknown lands beyond.
Draven, Lucian, Melken, and Merlik stood among the ruins, chests heaving, eyes wide.
"This… this is only the beginning," Draven said, gripping his sword tighter.
Merlik's voice was low, deadly, yet calm. "Welcome… to the Verdant Veil. The game isn't over. It has just changed players—and the board is much larger than we imagined."
Outside, a green haze spread over the horizon, whispering of forests alive, magic awakening, and a war that would consume kingdoms.
The Minister was gone, but the Catalyst had been unleashed.