Outside the Inferna Hollow, dark clouds spiraled ominously above the vast Runewood. The air grew heavier, the mana thickened with each passing second—churning from a strange, unseen force steadily awakening in the area.
Mathes stood surrounded by the unified elven forces, all of them forming a loose perimeter around a massive figure lying in the center—the White Fang.
The same monster that nearly devoured Auren.
The same creature that had just slain at least fifteen seasoned elven warriors in mere moments.
Now, its enormous snow-white body lay motionless, smoldering on the blood-stained earth. Smoke curled from its charred fur, the aftermath of Mathes' ultimate lightning strike.
Backup troops had only just arrived when they witnessed it—dozens of divine bolts crashing down like heavenly spears, pounding the beast into the ground with earsplitting fury.
They'd watched the skies erupt. They'd heard the explosions. They'd seen the legend fall.
