The cavern ceiling split, entire slabs of stone dropping. Dust swallowed the air. Humans scattered, dragging their wounded deeper into the tunnels. Mutants shrieked, their voices swallowed by rubble.
Maeven caught the blade again, their hands slick with blood as they pushed against each other, shadows and fire bleeding together into something that unmade the air itself.
And then, Lindarion faltered. His body gave one final lurch, then convulsed violently. The sword nearly slipped from his grip. His legs buckled. His vision dimmed, red light fading.
[System Alert: Synchronization exceeded. Vessel collapse confirmed.]
He tasted iron. His chest cracked like glass. Shadows shrieked, desperate to hold him upright, but his flesh betrayed them.
Maeven's grin returned, victorious.
He shoved forward, and Lindarion's body crumpled, pinned against the stone floor. The sword rattled in his hand.
Maeven raised his own clawed fingers for the killing blow.
And then the air shifted.
