Somewhere at the Structurith Clan territory, night was already knocking, ready to stretch its unique veil of darkness over the vast expanse like an uninvited monarch claiming its throne. The surrounding land trembled as relentless attacks persisted, the earth itself shuddering under the wrath of the Primordial beasts as they continued to launch their large-scale assaults.
Karl and the rest kept running and evading, their breaths sharp and measured, senses stretched thin as drawn wires, alert to every whisper of danger around them. Theodric, unlike the rest, was visibly drained of strength, his movements heavy and uneven, signs of weakness clinging to him like shadows, yet he still forced himself to keep pace. Behind them, multiple strikes crashed down, some landing a few meters ahead, others mere inches beside them, and some slamming into the very spots they had stood moments ago, as if fate itself was chasing their footprints.
