PROLOGUE : The Fall of the Black Flame Part II
Talon's silent nod was a death sentence delivered by a god. The Elders erupted.
Kyros Vahn, the Azure Warhammer, was first. He did not run; he annihilated the space between them, a mountain of azure steel and fury. Roaring, he unleashed his `Warhammer Assault`, his right arm swelling into a battering ram of solid, Qi-infused flesh and bone aimed at shattering their fragile formation in a single, cataclysmic blow.
He was met by a crimson comet. "Leave him to me!" Lysandra's voice was a battle cry as she launched herself forward, her own body wreathed in the fire of her `Blazing Body Tempering`. The clash was not of flesh, but of ideals—a deafening boom as immovable object met unstoppable force. A shockwave tore at the ground, kicking up shards of stone and jade. Kyros was halted, his eyes wide with savage glee at finding a worthy opponent.
While the physical battle raged, the true assault began. The scent of phantom blossoms, sweet and cloying, filled the air. Whispers, slick as oil, slithered into Liam's mind—voices of failure, echoes of past pains, visions of Isadora and Lysandra falling. It was Malira Sen, the Blooming Mirage, her eyes glowing with violet amusement as she began to weave her `Mirage Garden of a Thousand Pains`.
A single, pure note from Isadora's soul silenced the whispers before they could take root. Her `Mind Veil Halo` pulsed, a barrier of absolute truth against which Malira's illusions flickered and warped. It was a silent, desperate war being fought in the spaces between seconds, a battle of will Isadora had to win or they would all be lost.
Liam, meanwhile, was pinned. He could not aid Lysandra against the brute, nor could he fully support Isadora against the psychic assault. Talon watched him, a predator observing its prey, while the other two Elders closed the net.
Sekhen Vel, the Webbed Sage, glided at the periphery, his long, bony fingers dancing in the air. The ground beneath Liam's feet turned treacherous, the spiritual law of the space subtly shifting. Invisible threads of Qi attempted to latch onto his limbs, to bind his movements. He was fighting not just a man, but the battlefield itself.
A whisper of chilling emptiness at his back forced Liam to react. He spun, his black robes flaring, just as Fenris Dax, the Executioner, materialized from a `Phantom Step`. The Grand Elder's hand, wreathed in the draining energy of his `Voidfang Strike`, swiped at Liam's throat. Liam was forced to use his `Black Iron Reversal` not to absorb a grand blow, but to catch the swift, lethal attack, the parasitic Void Qi hissing as it was redirected harmlessly into the ground.
They were being systematically dismantled. Separated. Overwhelmed.
But their synergy had been forged in a hundred such impossible fights.
Seeing Liam pressed, Isadora did something unexpected. She sent a single `Soulbind Thread` lashing out, not to heal or defend, but to attack. It bypassed Malira's illusions and struck the sorceress's own soul with a jarring, psychic clang. Malira gasped, her concentration broken for a fraction of a second.
It was all Lysandra needed. Freed from the cloying mental pressure, she roared, her fire burning brighter. She used a `Cinder-Burst Step`, exploding into a shower of embers to appear past Kyros's guard. With every ounce of her strength, she slammed her open palm, glowing with the heat of a forge, against the Warhammer's chest plate. The `Crimson Brand Strike` left a searing, hand-shaped mark on the azure steel, sending the giant stumbling back a step, his eyes wide with enraged disbelief.
That single step was Liam's victory.
With Fenris and Sekhen momentarily repositioned, Liam ignored them. He ignored the gasping Malira and the roaring Kyros. He focused everything he was—his will, his rage, his desperate hope—into a single point of incandescent black flame. He unleashed a `Worldbreaker Lance` more potent, more compressed than any he had ever created before, and aimed it directly at the true throne of power.
It crossed the battlefield in an instant. For the first time, Talon Vorlag was forced to move. He raised a hand, and a shield of swirling, draconic emerald light materialized before him. Liam's lance struck it head-on. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the celestial barrier.
For one, beautiful, fleeting moment, the trio had pushed back the god-king. A flicker of genuine surprise—of shock—crossed Talon's perfect features.
Then the surprise vanished, replaced by an abyss. The oppressive aura of the Sect Leader changed, the last vestiges of feigned nobility burning away to reveal the cold, limitless rage beneath.
"Enough of this," Talon's voice was no longer a proclamation, but a low, guttural hiss that promised utter annihilation. "Enough of this game."
The emerald Qi around him darkened to the color of a midnight sea, and the dragon runes carved into his very soul began to glow with terrifying, world-ending light.