The horizon did not simply darken; it vanished.
From the high balcony of the Cloud Palace, the view of the eastern peaks—usually a majestic vista of floating stones and golden mist—had been replaced by a vertical wall of obsidian clouds. It churned with a rhythmic, bioluminescent pulse of crimson, like the heartbeat of a dying god. Volcanis was still leagues away, a distant speck of malevolent light within the abyss, yet the atmosphere of the Aerie was already screaming.
A low-frequency hum, deep enough to vibrate the marrow of every living thing in the city, began to swell. Then, the first shockwave hit.
BOOM.
It wasn't a sound, but a wall of displaced air. The massive white stone spires of the Palace groaned, and the floating gardens tilted dangerously.
Sylvia Rain stumbled onto the balcony, her hair standing on end from the sheer amount of static electricity in the air. She was clutching her master recording crystal as if it were a shield.
She hadn't stayed in the reinforced bunker with the non-combatants; she was here because Elian had promised her the "Story of the Century." To turn Eclipse from villains into legends, the world needed to see them stand against a God.
"The drones are useless, Captain!" Sylvia shouted, her voice nearly drowned out by the rising gale. She pointed toward the dark horizon where several of her high-tier 'Specter' drones were falling like dead birds, their internal lights flickering out. "The moment they hit the three-mile perimeter, their mana-cores short-circuit. Volcanis isn't just bringing a storm; he's bringing a magical EMP! If I can't get a signal out, the world won't see what happens next!"
"Forget the live feed, Sylvia," Elian commanded, his eyes fixed on the distant, pulsing crimson eye of the hurricane. "Just record the local data. If we survive, you can broadcast the wreckage later."
"If?" Sylvia whispered, looking at the black wall that was now consuming the sunlight.
Caelum stepped to the edge of the railing, his blind eyes "looking" into the heart of the pressure. "He is purging the air," the High Elf noted, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "He is rewriting the mana-signature of the floor. If he reaches the city, the gravity anchors will fail. The Aerie won't just be destroyed—it will fall."
Before Elian could respond, a streak of white light erupted from the palace spire behind them.
Zephyr, the Sky-Father, had finally decided to act. He didn't use a mount; he became a silhouette of pure, rushing wind, a white comet heading directly into the mouth of the black beast to protect his people.
"Father, no!" Prince Thal'dor roared, reaching for the railing, but he was too late.
The two powers met five miles out in the open sky. The collision didn't make a sound at first. It produced a dome of blinding white light that bleached the world of all color for five agonizing seconds.
Then, the shockwave hit.
KRA-KOOM.
The palace windows shattered. The Obsidian Leviathan, docked at the highest spire, was bucked upward, its mooring chains snapping like silk threads.
"Everyone on the ship!" Elian commanded, drawing Winter's Eclipse. The black blade hummed, sensing its master's intent. "Sylvia, if you want your legend, get to the prow! We don't have to be the strongest force in the sky, we just have to be the one that tips the balance!"
As the team scrambled onto the deck of the bucking ship, Elian looked through the grainy holographic feed Sylvia managed to stabilize on the main deck's projector. Five miles away, in the eye of the carnage, the two brothers were finally face-to-face.
And the conversation that followed would decide the fate of the floor.