Lucian’s breath was steady, but his heart pounded against his ribs. His fingers clenched around his sword as he watched—his mind racing to process what was unfolding before him.

  Captain Elara stood poised, her flames flickering like a storm barely contained. Across from her, Vraxxis, the leader of the Grellocks, loomed within the wreckage of the hut he had been blasted into.

  This was it.

  The end of the battle.

  Elara wasn’t one to drag things out—she was efficient, decisive. She was going to end this.

  Lucian could feel it—the shift in the air.

  A surge of power rippled around her, heat distorting the space as embers coiled around her frame like living serpents. The air grew heavy, thick, as if the battlefield itself was anticipating the final blow.

  Vraxxis stirred within the wreckage, his battered frame twitching. Lucian saw his scorched flesh peeling, his body failing, his smirk weakening.

  He couldn’t move.

  His wounds were too deep—he had taken too much damage.

  Lucian exhaled.

  It’s over.

  Elara’s stance remained poised as she readied Incendria. The burning chain hissed in the air, segments glowing white-hot, brimming with pure destruction.

  Vraxxis gritted his teeth and tried to push himself up—but his body betrayed him.

  Too slow. Too damaged.

  For the first time, Lucian saw it.

  The realization in his eyes.

  Vraxxis knew.

  He couldn’t dodge.

  So instead—he lifted his arms in a last, desperate defense.

  BOOM.

  The moment Elara swung Incendria, the entire battlefield erupted in flame.

  The burning chain crashed against Vraxxis with explosive force, the impact shaking the very earth. A shockwave thundered outward, sending embers spiraling through the night.

  Vraxxis was launched into the air—

  SLAM.

  He crashed into another hut, obliterating it on impact.

  Lucian braced himself against the force, his hair whipping in the heatwave, but his focus never wavered.

  It’s done.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Then—

  Laughter.

  Lucian’s stomach dropped.

  Through the haze of smoke and splintered wood, Vraxxis rose.

  Battered. Broken. Dying.

  And smiling.

  Elara remained unmoved. She did not falter.

  She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like a reaper approaching the condemned.

  Vraxxis coughed—his ribs cracked and caved inward—but the way he grinned made Lucian’s blood freeze.

  “…Heh… Ah… Ahahahaha…”

  Lucian tensed.

  Why is he laughing?

  Vraxxis tilted his head, his charred skin cracking, splitting apart in deep fractures.

  “This feeling…” His voice was raw, a mixture of pain and exhilaration. “Yes… Yesss… Closer.”

  Lucian’s hands clenched.

  Something is wrong.

  Vraxxis' entire body shuddered.

  His burned skin began to crumble away, sloughing off in blackened flakes. But underneath—it wasn’t muscle, or bone, or blood.

  Something else lurked beneath the surface.

  Something twisted.

  Lucian felt it.

  A sickness in the air, thick and oppressive, like a predator waiting to devour the world.

  Darkness bloomed from Vraxxis’ body.

  Not shadow. Not smoke.

  Something… alive.

  Elara’s eyes narrowed, her grip on Incendria tightening.

  Vraxxis slowly rolled his shoulders. His wounds were gone.

  No. Not healed.

  Shed.

  Lucian's breath caught.

  He isn’t regenerating.

  He’s evolving.

  Vraxxis flexed his claws, testing his new form. His muscles had thickened, his frame now denser, taller, his horns curled slightly backward, pulsating with vein-like strands of abyssal energy.

  His once golden eyes had turned to pure abyssal black, swirling like an endless void.

  Lucian’s stomach twisted.

  This isn’t natural.

  This wasn’t an Ascen awakening.

  This was something else entirely.

  Elara exhaled slowly. Her stance shifted.

  This wasn’t the same fight anymore.

  Vraxxis grinned, fully aware of his change.

  "Ah… Yes." He clenched his clawed fist, watching the black energy coil around him like living tendrils. "I wondered when it would awaken."

  Lucian felt the shift in the air.

  It wasn’t just strength.

  It wasn’t just power.

  This was something corrupted.

  Vraxxis lifted his gaze, his grin wide with satisfaction.

  He was in control.

  Lucian’s heart pounded.

  This was the power of the Darkened Ascen.

  Then—

  The battlefield cracked.

  A deep, violent rupture in the air itself.

  Lucian’s mind barely registered what was happening—only that the world had collapsed inward, a shockwave of pure force radiating from Vraxxis' body.

  The weight in the air tripled.

  Lucian couldn’t breathe.

  This power—this wasn’t just Ascen.

  This was Void.

  And then—

  Elara flew.

  SLAM.

  The force sent her flying, her body crashing through the remains of another hut, the impact splintering wood and stone.

  Lucian’s chest tightened.

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  Elara was down.

  Holt took an instinctive step forward, but Fey grabbed his arm, stopping him. Even she was unsure what to do.

  Lucian clenched his fists.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Vraxxis let out a low chuckle, flexing his newly transformed form.

  "Now, then…" His voice carried too much amusement.

  His gaze locked onto Elara's fallen form.

  Then—he grinned wider.

  "Shall we continue?"

  The world blurred.

  Elara’s body screamed in protest as she tried to move, the splintered wood and dust settling around her. Pain radiated from her back, her limbs sluggish—her strength drained from the relentless exertion of her Ascen.

  She exhaled, steadying herself, forcing her vision to clear.

  Her fingers twitched. Incendria was still in her grasp, its flames flickering weakly—unstable from the sheer force she had unleashed.

  She had overcommitted.

  She had miscalculated.

  Elara gritted her teeth, pushing herself up slowly, her legs trembling beneath her weight.

  Damn it.

  She knew—she felt it.

  She had used too much power too quickly.

  Her Ascen had burned through her stamina at a dangerous rate—and she wasn’t recovering fast enough.

  The heat in the air had changed.

  Not hers.

  His.

  Her breath hitched.

  Her fingers curled tighter around Incendria, her thoughts racing.

  What… happened?

  How could this be?

  A mere beast—no, not just a beast.

  She knew Vraxxis was different from the moment he spoke.

  But this?

  This was beyond anything she had anticipated.

  Her gaze snapped up—her eyes locking onto the towering figure standing amidst the battlefield.

  Vraxxis.

  No longer just the Grellock leader.

  Something else entirely.

  His form still resembled what he had been—hulking, powerful, his claws like razors, his muscles thickened beyond reason. But now, that dark energy slithered across his skin, alive, twisting with power that wasn’t natural.

  A voidborn corruption.

  An Ascen that shouldn’t exist.

  Her breath came shorter.

  A Dark Ascen.

  Not one nurtured like a normal Ascen.

  One that had been created.

  Corrupted.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs.

  What kind of monstrosity was he?

  The night air trembled.

  Vraxxis stood tall, his twisted form radiating power, the void-like tendrils coiling around his body like living shadows. The battlefield, once firmly in Elara’s grasp, had now shifted—tilted in favor of the unknown.

  Elara’s breaths were steady but labored, her exhaustion betraying the confidence in her stance. The flickering embers around Incendria dimmed slightly, signaling the waning of her Ascen energy.

  She knew.

  She couldn’t take him alone anymore.

  Her golden eyes flickered across her team, and wordlessly, she gave the order.

  Join the fight.

  The silent signal passed like lightning through the group. Weapons tightened. Muscles coiled. The air shifted, charged with fierce, deadly intent.

  Then—her voice rang out.

  “Give it everything you’ve got.”

  A single command.

  Not a request.

  An order.

  Her team reacted instantly.

  Holt rolled his shoulders, his massive frame tensing like a beast ready to pounce. Fey twirled her twin blades, their polished edges gleaming against the darkened flames surrounding Vraxxis. Renn exhaled slowly, pulling an arrow from her quiver—her deadliest shot yet.

  At the edge of the battlefield, Isla pulled away from Tarek, who was now standing, his wound fully closed. Her hands were still stained with blood, but her work was done.

  Tarek nodded once, rolling his shoulder to test it before drawing a dagger from his belt. Though still a bit pale, his sharp gaze was locked onto Vraxxis, assessing the battlefield.

  Lucian turned just as Isla and Tarek moved in to join the others.

  Now—they were at full strength.

  But before the battle commenced—Elara’s gaze snapped toward Lucian.

  For the first time, she wasn’t holding him back.

  She wasn’t limiting him.

  Instead—

  She was ordering him to fight.

  “Do whatever you can to help bring that thing down.”

  Lucian stiffened, his grip tightening around his weapon.

  He expected her to tell him to step aside, to stay out of the way—but instead, she was telling him to step forward.

  His heart pounded.

  His body tensed.

  Do whatever you can.

  Lucian looked up at Vraxxis—at the overwhelming, abyssal energy leaking from his form.

  Something about it felt… familiar.

  A deep, chilling memory stirred within him.

  That pressure.

  That weight in the air.

  He had felt it before.

  The 12th Scion.

  His breath caught.

  It wasn’t the same—not in scale, not in power—but the resemblance was undeniable.

  The faint remnants of that suffocating abyss… it was here.

  His hands shook slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  The terror from that night—the night he had run—began to crawl back, gnawing at his thoughts, urging him to hesitate.

  Then—

  His eyes fell on his wrist.

  On the small wooden pendant.

  The charm the boy in the village had given him.

  The tiny, imperfect sun carving.

  A symbol of hope.

  Lucian exhaled sharply, gripping it for just a moment, grounding himself.

  Then, he looked up.

  The hesitation in his eyes faded.

  The fear burned away.

  He wasn’t that boy anymore.

  He would not run.

  Not again.

  Lucian tightened his grip on his sword.

  His stance lowered.

  His breathing calmed.

  Then—

  Lucian rushed forward, his sword gripped tightly as his body surged with adrenaline. Every step brought him closer to Vraxxis, the towering, abyssal creature now standing at the center of destruction.

  But just as he was about to close the distance—

  A massive body flew past him.

  Lucian barely dodged in time. The impact of the figure slamming into the dirt kicked up a cloud of dust and debris, the force sending a heavy tremor through the ground.

  He snapped his head to the side.

  Holt.

  Lucian’s eyes widened in horror. The massive warrior lay sprawled on the battlefield, his chest heaving, blood seeping from a gaping wound on his side. His axe, once gripped with unwavering strength, lay a few feet away.

  He wasn’t moving.

  Lucian’s breath caught.

  Vraxxis had struck him down.

  A blur of motion. Isla.

  She was already sprinting toward Holt, her hands glowing faintly with the soft white aura of her Ascen, her expression fierce with determination.

  Lucian turned his gaze ahead—toward Captain Elara.

  She was still on her knees, struggling to regain her strength. Her body trembled slightly, her breath ragged, sweat glistening on her skin.

  Her Relicarn was gone.

  Lucian’s stomach twisted.

  She had spent too much power.

  Elara tried to push herself up—but her muscles failed her. She gritted her teeth in frustration, her flaming aura flickering weakly before vanishing altogether.

  She couldn’t move.

  The battle had shifted.

  Lucian realized it all in mere seconds, his body still moving forward—still charging ahead.

  Then—

  A scream.

  Not of pain.

  Of power.

  Lucian’s head snapped toward the sound—

  Fey.

  A gust of wind erupted from where she stood, sending loose dirt and debris spiraling outward in a whirlwind. Her greenish-silver aura surged, crackling with raw energy.

  Then—

  She called forth her Relicarn.

  "Gale Fang!"

  A burst of energy exploded around her.

  Lucian’s breath hitched.

  Before his eyes, Fey’s twin swords shifted, their forms bending as if molded by the very wind itself. The hilts extended, curving slightly, while the blades elongated, taking on a new sleeker, deadlier form.

  Two wind-forged falchions—curved, sharp, and glinting with a faint, unstable cyclone of energy rippling along their edges.

  Lucian could feel it—the sheer cutting power radiating from them, as if the very air around her had become an extension of her blades.

  A storm given form.

  Fey launched forward, her movements now twice as fast, the wind carrying her with near effortless speed. She spun mid-air, her falchions cutting through the wind like razor-edged currents, clashing with Vraxxis in a frenzied dance of steel and wind.

  Lucian didn’t stop.

  He couldn’t.

  His own Ascen flared to life, dark blue energy coiling around his legs like a surging tide.

  He focused—channeled.

  Then—he moved.

  The ground cracked beneath him as his speed doubled, tripled, his form blurring into motion.

  He wasn’t just running.

  He was rushing into the storm.

  Fey moved like a tempest.

  Her twin falchions danced through the air in a deadly storm, each strike carrying the sharp howl of the wind itself. Vraxxis’ monstrous form was struck repeatedly—deep cuts forming along his darkened, void-tainted flesh.

  Lucian, still charging ahead, watched carefully.

  She was hurting him.

  But not enough.

  Fey’s Relicarn, though fast and precise, lacked the sheer destructive force of Captain Elara’s Incendria.

  It did not burn, did not cleave deep enough to cripple this monster.

  Lucian clenched his jaw. Vraxxis was adapting.

  The monster barely flinched against the onslaught. The wounds Fey inflicted bled, but his stance never broke.

  Lucian’s pulse quickened—his body still in motion, the dark blue aura of his Ascen pulsing along his legs.

  I need to help.

  Fey darted low, her blades flashing, aiming for a deep cut along his ribs—but Vraxxis twisted, knocking the strike aside with a brutal sweep of his arm.

  An opening.

  Lucian was close enough now.

  He launched himself forward, his momentum carrying him into a single, decisive strike.

  His blade swung low, slicing directly toward the Achilles tendon of Vraxxis’ leg—

  A perfect, crippling blow.

  His sword bit into flesh.

  But only shallowly.

  Lucian’s eyes widened.

  The cut was weak.

  He had forgotten to coat his sword in Ascen energy.

  Idiot!

  The realization hit him instantly—the monstrous durability of Vraxxis required more than just a simple blade.

  A single second of self-blame—of frustration—

  Then—

  A deafening crash.

  Lucian’s head snapped up.

  Fey.

  Her body slammed into the dirt, tumbling violently before she skidded to a stop.

  She groaned, struggling to rise. Her falchions lay a few feet away, one blade half-buried in the ground.

  Vraxxis had struck her.

  Even with her Relicarn active—she had been overwhelmed.

  Lucian’s breath hitched.

  This monster—even now, he was dominating the battlefield.

  And he wasn’t done yet.

  Lucian’s breath hitched as Fey struggled to rise, her falchions just out of reach. The battle was unraveling, and despite their best efforts—Vraxxis still stood unbroken.

  Then—

  A sharp whistle.

  The air split apart as a powerful, Ascen-coated arrow tore through the battlefield, its trajectory aimed straight for Vraxxis' shoulder.

  A direct hit.

  The impact was enough to stagger him, if only slightly, his massive frame shuddering from the force of the blow.

  Lucian barely had time to process before a shout erupted from the treetops.

  "KEEP ATTACKING! DON’T STOP UNTIL FEY AND THE CAPTAIN CAN MOVE!"

  Lucian’s head snapped toward the voice.

  Renn.

  She was perched high above, bow still drawn, her golden eyes sharp and unwavering despite the chaos below.

  She was giving him an opening.

  Lucian inhaled sharply—then his grip tightened on his sword.

  No hesitation.

  His Ascen surged, the dark blue aura enveloping his blade, crackling like barely contained lightning.

  He dashed forward, his speed nearly doubling as he lunged—

  His target?

  Vraxxis’ face.

  Lucian leapt, twisting mid-air, his blade flashing in an arc of light.

  The edge cut deep.

  A spray of blackened blood.

  A roar of pure rage.

  Vraxxis jerked back, his monstrous voice shaking the ground beneath them.

  His left eye—

  Gone.

  Lucian felt the rush of victory surge through his veins—

  But only for half a second.

  A clawed hand, faster than he could react—

  SLAM.

  The force caught him mid-air, an impact so brutal it felt like a war hammer striking his ribs.

  The world blurred.

  Lucian’s body was sent flying, his vision twisting as the battlefield whipped past him.

  He was losing control.

  Then—

  Impact.

  His back collided with something—no, someone.

  A sharp gasp of pain.

  Lucian barely registered the sound before they both went tumbling, crashing into the dirt in a tangle of limbs and weapons. The pain in his ribs was blinding, but his mind was already snapping to awareness.

  Who—

  His vision cleared just enough to see her.

  Renn.

  Her bow had been knocked aside in the fall, her face contorted in pain.

  Then—he saw her leg.

  Twisted. Unnatural.

  Broken.

  Lucian’s chest tightened.

  No.

  No, no, no—

  His fists clenched, frustration and guilt roaring through his skull.

  I was careless.

  I didn’t see where I was falling—

  Lucian turned, swallowing his panic, and forced himself to his knees. He felt blood on his tongue, but his body had absorbed most of the impact, his Ascen having shielded him at the last second.

  He was hurt. But he could still move.

  Renn, however—

  Lucian opened his mouth to apologize.

  But Renn cut him off first.

  A short, shaky exhale—then, through gritted teeth—

  "Don't worry about me."

  Lucian's breath caught.

  Renn’s face was pale, beads of sweat forming from the pain—but her eyes remained sharp.

  Determined.

  She reached out, grabbing her bow with trembling fingers.

  "I can still shoot."

  Lucian’s heart pounded.

  She was still in this fight.

  Despite the pain.

  Despite the injury.

  Despite the overwhelming force of Vraxxis standing tall in the battlefield ahead.

  The fight wasn't over.