"Three of us. One of him," Leon said, his eyes locked on the beast at the throne's heart.
"Let's end this."
The shattered bones of the throne chamber crunched beneath their boots as the battle began, the air thick with the stench of blood and corrupted magic.
Varnyx stood tall, his obsidian flesh gleaming with sweat and heat, four arms unfurling from his torso—each gripping a different weapon: a jagged sword, a serrated hook, a spiked chain, and a twisted staff pulsing with crimson light.
His molten gold eyes locked onto them with predatory calm, his torn parchment wings casting jagged shadows across the bone-tiled floor.
"You've come far," he said, his voice deep enough to vibrate through the obsidian walls, a mocking rumble.
"But you're bleeding, broken. Tired."
Leon stood behind Saria and Terya, his chest rising, heart pounding, the taste of copper thick in his mouth.
