The Wastes stretched endlessly—a scarred expanse of cracked earth lit by flickering violet light. The smell of burned ichor and ozone filled the air, while the rift's constant hum served as a grim reminder of lurking danger. Liam's breaths came ragged; despite his fading strength, the shard in his hand burned hard, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. A chill whisper echoed in his mind: **"Kneel."**
Mara pressed against him, her breathing shallow and uneven, blood drying on her lips. Her glow had dimmed after the fight. Behind them, Elise clutched a jagged scrap of metal—her shattered blade reduced to memories scattered on the ground. Her eyes roved over the horizon where hundreds of Voidborn eyes gleamed. At the center of the enemy formation stood the warlord—a towering silhouette of twisted flesh and jagged metal, with a single burning violet eye and a hollow void for the other, weeping dark ichor. The runes on its hide pulsed in time with the shard's beat.
