The chamber seemed to tremble under the weight of Kaela's defiant cry, the air thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wood. Flickering flames cast long, restless shadows over the shattered pillars and cracked stone floor, painting the battlefield in hues of orange and black.
Kaela's sword, slick with blood and grime, glinted fiercely as she pressed the advantage. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat a drum of war that echoed her determination. Around her, the rebels surged forward, their spirits lifted by the commander's falter.
The Ashen commander stumbled, gripping the gash on his side, his face twisted in fury and disbelief. But even wounded, he was far from defeated. With a guttural roar, he rallied his remaining forces, their numbers thinning but their will unbroken.
Ava's sharp daggers flashed through the smoke, each strike precise and deadly, cutting down any who dared close in. Joren's explosives shattered the silence intermittently, the concussive blasts sending dust and debris flying like deadly rain.
Kaela's muscles screamed with exhaustion, her breath ragged and uneven, but her gaze never faltered. The battle was a brutal symphony — pain, fury, hope — all intertwined in a desperate fight for survival.
Suddenly, the commander lunged with renewed ferocity, his blade a silver flash aimed directly at Kaela's heart. Time slowed as she twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, her own blade slashing in a counterattack.
The clang of metal rang out sharp and clear, a sound that would echo in Kaela's memory long after the flames died down.
Around them, the tide of battle reached its crescendo, the final flames of reckoning igniting.
Kaela knew what she had to do.
Win — or fall.