The march toward the glinting ridge was a crucible of blistering heat, treacherous ground shifting beneath their boots, and the constant, eerie hum of the realm's pulse. Sorin felt it like a second heartbeat—alien, jagged, and out of sync—vibrating through his bones, drawing him forward as though the land itself had chosen him.
Above, the bleeding sky churned in molten crimson, clouds roiling like a boiling cauldron. The air shimmered with more than heat—it thrummed with ancient, predatory power. Each breath carried the metallic tang of blood and the faint sweetness of rot, the flavors lingering on his tongue like an unshakable curse. A distant crackle, like bone splintering underfoot, whispered through the wind.
They weren't alone. Flickers of movement danced just beyond focus—shadowy shapes too quick to pinpoint, their whispers brushing against the edges of thought. Liora's fingers tightened on her bowstring until her knuckles blanched. Bram, arm bound but gaze unyielding, trudged forward with the steadiness of a man who had walked through hell and learned its rules. Kaelith prowled with a predator's grace, every step silent, while Arienna's twin swords hummed at her sides as though tasting the air for blood.
From behind came the pounding rhythm of pursuit—Valrik's Obsidian Fang, relentless as wolves scenting fresh prey. Sorin knew they wouldn't relent. Worse, the ridge ahead had its own sentinels.
The ground fractured into jagged scars, rivers of molten glass coursing through them like open wounds. From these fissures rose serpent-dragons of glass and ember, their molten-gold eyes burning with hunger. Armored in whirling shards, they moved like living storms, slicing the air in a deadly cyclone. Waves of heat rippled off them, threatening to blister skin from bone.
"Positions!" Sorin's voice cut through the rising roar. Dren, shield shattered but spirit unbroken, stepped to the front. Bram stood beside him like a fortress. Liora's arrow hissed past Sorin's ear and struck true into a serpent's eye, bursting it in a plume of molten dust.
The battle erupted in a cacophony of steel, screams, and shattering crystal. Kaelith's blade sang as it batted shards from the air. Arienna's twin arcs carved sweeping paths, redirecting streams of molten breath. Sorin's Bone Flame flared white-hot as he vaulted onto a serpent's back, his weapon sinking between crystalline scales. The beast's scream was like a mountain tearing itself apart.
Another serpent coiled around Bram, squeezing the breath from him. Sorin locked eyes with him—a silent vow—and drove his blade in a searing arc, slicing through its spine. Liora's follow-up arrow finished the kill.
The second serpent lashed at Kaelith, shards spinning like a sawblade. He slipped between the edges until Sorin shattered the deadly ring with a strike. Arienna's blades crossed in a lethal X, sending its head tumbling into the molten river.
The silence after was suffocating, heavy with the stink of scorched air and glass dust.
Then the ground heaved. From the molten flow rose an abnormal titan—an amalgam of obsidian and bone, its molten veins glowing with the lifeblood of the earth. Its eyes burned with volcanic malice, each step warping the air, its presence pressing on their chests like an unseen hand. The air vibrated with its growl, a sound that seemed to scrape at the edges of sanity.
The ridge loomed ahead, its crown of fractured diadems glinting like broken teeth. The relic's pull was almost physical now, thrumming in Sorin's veins. Behind them, Valrik's warriors emerged from the haze, their leader's gaze locked on Sorin with a promise of death.
Sorin wiped blood from his lips. "We hold them here," he said, his voice a calm blade slicing through the heat and fear. "Or no one reaches the relic."
The space between the forces vibrated with raw bloodlust. As the first step was taken, the realm itself seemed to lean forward—hungry for the carnage about to come.