The corridor erupted into chaos.
Aurelion moved first, his blade singing as it left its sheath. The shards beneath his skin blazed with light, feeding him strength, accelerating his movements. He closed the distance between himself and Malagar in a heartbeat, his sword aimed at the executioner's throat.
Malagar didn't flinch.
His great axe came up, catching Aurelion's blade with a deafening clash of steel on steel. The impact sent shockwaves through the corridor, cracking the stone walls, sending dust raining from the ceiling. Aurelion felt the force of it travel up his arms, into his shoulders, through his entire body.
He's strong, Aurelion thought. Stronger than before.
Malagar pushed.
Aurelion flew backward, his boots skidding across the stone floor. He recovered quickly, his blade raised, his eyes fixed on the executioner.
"You're faster than I remember," Malagar said, his voice flat. "But speed is not enough."
He attacked.
His great axe came down in a devastating arc, aimed at Aurelion's skull. Aurelion sidestepped—barely. The blade passed inches from his face, carving a trench in the floor where he had been standing.
Ami struck from the side.
Her blade found Malagar's flank, driving deep into the gap between his armor plates. Ichor sprayed. Malagar grunted—the first sound of pain he had made.
He backhanded her.
She flew across the corridor, crashing into a pillar. The impact cracked the stone, sent her tumbling to the ground. She groaned, struggling to rise.
Corrin was there, his broken spear held like a staff. He drove it into Malagar's back, the jagged point finding a gap in the armor. Ichor poured from the wound.
Malagar spun.
His fist connected with Corrin's chest, sending him flying into the opposite wall. Corrin hit the ground and didn't move.
Kael fired.
His pistols hummed with energy, each shot aimed at Malagar's exposed joints—his knees, his elbows, the gaps in his neck armor. The shots struck true, punching through the obsidian, drawing more ichor.
Malagar turned.
"Annoying," he said.
He raised his hand.
A wave of force erupted from his palm, slamming into Kael like a physical wall. The young hunter flew backward, his pistols clattering across the floor. He hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the stone.
Aurelion was on him again.
His blade found Malagar's chest, driving deep into the obsidian armor. The executioner staggered, his great axe swinging wildly. Aurelion ducked under the blow, his sword finding the gap beneath Malagar's arm.
Ichor sprayed.
"You're fast," Malagar admitted. "Faster than anyone I've faced."
Aurelion pressed his advantage, his blade a blur of silver and crimson. He struck again and again, each blow precise, each one drawing ichor. The shards beneath his skin blazed with light, feeding him strength, accelerating his movements.
But Malagar was relentless.
His great axe swung in a wide arc, forcing Aurelion to retreat. The blade passed inches from his throat, carving a trench in the wall behind him. Aurelion stumbled, recovered, struck again.
Their blades met in a shower of sparks.
"Impressive," Malagar said. "But you're still holding back."
Aurelion pushed. "I'm not holding back."
"Yes, you are." Malagar's voice was flat, emotionless. "You're afraid. Afraid of what you'll become if you stop holding back."
Aurelion's jaw tightened.
He pushed harder.
Their blades locked, the force of their struggle sending shockwaves through the corridor. The symbols on the walls pulsed brighter, their energy reaching for them, trying to slow them down.
"You're not wrong," Aurelion admitted. "I am afraid."
Malagar tilted his helmet. "Then you've already lost."
He shoved.
Aurelion flew backward, his boots skidding across the stone floor. He recovered, his blade raised, his eyes fixed on the executioner.
"But I'm also not afraid enough to stop."
He attacked.
The battle moved through the fortress.
Aurelion and Malagar fought their way through corridor after corridor, their blades clashing, their power colliding. The symbols on the walls pulsed brighter, their energy reaching for them, trying to slow them down.
Ami, Corrin, and Kael followed, their weapons ready, their eyes scanning for openings. They struck when they could, drawing ichor, buying time.
But Malagar was unstoppable.
His great axe was a blur of death, each swing powerful enough to shatter stone. His armor was cracked, dented, streaked with ichor—but he was still standing. Still fighting. Still winning.
Aurelion was losing.
He could feel it in the way his arms trembled, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his vision swam with each impact. The shards beneath his skin were blazing, feeding him strength—but it wasn't enough.
"Almost there," Malagar said, his voice flat. "A few more corridors, and you'll be at the exit."
Aurelion didn't answer. He couldn't.
He attacked.
His blade found Malagar's shoulder, driving deep into the obsidian armor. The executioner grunted, his great axe swinging wildly. Aurelion ducked under the blow, his sword finding the gap beneath Malagar's arm.
Ichor sprayed.
"You're persistent," Malagar said. "I'll give you that."
Aurelion pressed his advantage, his blade a blur of motion. But Malagar was ready.
His great axe swung in a wide arc, forcing Aurelion to retreat. The blade passed inches from his throat, carving a trench in the wall behind him. Aurelion stumbled, recovered, struck again.
Their blades met in a shower of sparks.
"Almost there," Malagar repeated. "A few more corridors."
Aurelion pushed. "I know."
He was leading him.
The exit was in sight.
Aurelion could see it—a massive doorway, its doors thrown open, revealing the pale gray light of the battlefield beyond. The allied forces were still fighting, their weapons blazing, their voices raised in defiance.
Malagar saw it too.
"Outside," he said. "You want to fight me outside."
Aurelion met his eyes. "I want to finish this."
Malagar laughed—a cold, hollow sound.
"You're a fool," he said. "You think the open ground will help you? You think you can beat me in a fair fight?"
Aurelion raised his blade. "I don't need to beat you. I just need to hold you."
Malagar tilted his helmet. "Hold me?"
"Long enough."
He attacked.
His blade found Malagar's chest, driving deep into the obsidian armor. The executioner staggered, his great axe swinging wildly. Aurelion ducked under the blow, his sword finding the gap beneath Malagar's arm.
Ichor sprayed.
Malagar stumbled.
Aurelion pressed his advantage, his blade a blur of motion. He struck again and again, each blow precise, each one drawing ichor. The shards beneath his skin blazed with light, feeding him strength, accelerating his movements.
But Malagar was still standing.
"You can't win," Malagar said. "You know that, don't you?"
Aurelion met his eyes. "I don't need to win. I just need to slow you down."
Malagar's helmet tilted. "Slow me down?"
"Long enough."
The exit was ten feet away.
Aurelion threw himself forward, his blade aimed at Malagar's chest. The executioner raised his great axe to block—
Aurelion dropped.
He slid between Malagar's legs, his blade carving a deep gash in the executioner's thigh. Ichor sprayed across the floor.
Malagar roared—a sound of pure fury.
He spun, his great axe swinging in a wide arc. Aurelion rolled, the blade passing inches from his face. He came up running, his boots pounding against the stone floor.
The exit was five feet away.
Three feet.
One.
He burst through the doorway, into the pale gray light of the battlefield.
The allied forces were waiting.
Soldiers and hunters formed a wide perimeter around the fortress, their weapons ready, their eyes fixed on the doorway. The Aegis stood at the center, its core glowing with stored power.
Aurelion stumbled out of the fortress, his body aching, his blade dripping with ichor. He was still standing, but barely. The shards beneath his skin pulsed weakly, trying to heal him, trying to keep him going.
Malagar stepped through the doorway behind him, his great axe raised, his armor cracked and bleeding. He looked at the allied forces—at the soldiers, the hunters, the Aegis.
"You think this will stop me?" he said. "You think a few soldiers and a broken weapon will slow me down?"
Aurelion raised his blade.
Reyes's voice cut through the chaos.
"KADE! STAND DOWN!"
Aurelion froze.
He turned.
Reyes stood at the center of the perimeter, her armor cracked, her face streaked with ichor. Her sword was in her hand, its edge gleaming with contained power. She looked terrifying—like a ghost, like a demon, like something that had crawled out of a nightmare.
But her eyes were focused.
On Malagar.
She walked forward, her boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. The soldiers parted around her, their weapons still raised, their eyes fixed on the executioner.
She stopped twenty feet from him.
Her sword was still raised, pointed directly at Malagar's chest.
Mana began to swirl around her—not a trickle, not a stream. A vortex. It coiled around her body, around her blade, crackling with contained power. The air around her shimmered with heat. The ground beneath her feet cracked.
"You're opponent," she said, her voice cold and absolute, "is me."
She swung.
A wave of concentrated energy erupted from her blade—a crescent of pale blue light that carved through the air, through the debris, through the space between them.
Malagar raised his great axe to block.
The wave struck him.
The impact was immense—a shockwave that rippled through the battlefield, sending soldiers stumbling, cracking the ground beneath their feet. Malagar was driven back, his boots carving trenches in the earth. His great axe held, but barely.
He looked up.
His helmet was cracked, ichor dripping from the fissures. His armor was smoking. His great axe was dented.
He was still standing.
But he was wounded.
Reyes lowered her blade, her breathing steady, her eyes still fixed on him.
"I've been waiting for this," she said. "For a very long time."
Malagar laughed—a cold, hollow sound.
"Then you won't be disappointed."
He attacked.