After the meal, Kael leaned forward, the firelight flickering across his scarred face. "Alright. Enough dancing around it. How do you know me?"
The blacksmith, Durnik, exhaled sharply and tossed a log into the fire, sending up sparks. "You really don't remember, do you? After you were turned to stone, the world collapsed. The demons didn't just kill—they corrupted. Gave power to the desperate, the greedy. Those who resisted?" He dragged a thumb across his throat.
Elara's voice trembled. "The Dromen family... they stood against them. The demons tried to erase them."
Jasen whispered, eyes wide, "But the prophet said a Dromen would return... to save us. By death or life." He looked at Kael. "That's you."
Kael raised an eyebrow, brow furrowed. "And CryoIsle?"
Durnik spat into the snow. "Ruled by a traitor. A man who sold his soul to demons. His right hand? Ignatius. Demon of lava and fire. He burned Frostford to ash."
Silence hung heavy—then laughter. Low. Crackling. Like burning bones.
The air warped. Heat smothered the camp, snow hissing into steam.
From the shadows stepped Ignatius—robes aflame, bone mask reflecting firelight. "How cozy," he sneered. "A little bedtime story before the slaughter."
Kael stood slowly, cocky grin curling his lip. "You monologue more than you fight. That mask hiding your melted pride?"
Ignatius snapped his fingers.
Ten flaming rifts opened. Demons thundered through—hulking, molten beasts, eyes glowing hate.
Lucian stepped forward from the darkness, coat flaring, hands in pockets. "Guess I can't nap through this after all." He raised one hand lazily. "Let me show you something cursed."
A pulse of violet light radiated from him—one demon's armor shattered instantly, collapsing like broken glass.
Dante's voice boomed behind them. "Jasen—get back!" He burst into blue fire and launched forward, kicking a demon's skull clean off.
Kael leapt in, cocky and relentless. He ducked under a demon's swing, flipped off a tree trunk, and jammed a shattered spear into the demon's chest with a laugh. "Too slow, hotshot!"
But more came. Dozens.
Lucian's nullification glowed around him like a black halo, briefly dissolving magic—then flickering, unstable. "I'm running dry," he muttered. "Too many variables."
Dante's flames flickered. "There's too many! We need to pull out!"
The ground trembled. Lava erupted behind them—cutting off escape. Ignatius raised his hand with ease, the battlefield now a burning cage.
Kael skidded to a stop, bleeding from his temple. "Damn it..."
Then came the roar.
A hellhound with three heads burst from the smoke, drooling acid, ripping through refugees. Screams erupted. Chaos.
Elara stumbled, pulling Jasen close. But she had no magic—just fear.
Kael's eyes scanned the ground. No weapon. No escape. His hand landed on something cold—
A staff.
elegant weapon wrapped in dragon carvings, with gold-trimmed obsidian and jade finish. Dragon heads cap each end, their jaws open mid-roar, glowing faintly. It feels alive—like a sacred relic wreathed in mythical power.
He grinned. "This'll do."
Power surged through him. The staff vibrated in his grip. He spun it once, then twice, before smashing it into the ground—sending out a shockwave that threw demons back.
"I'm just getting warmed up," he smirked, blood dripping from his chin.
Lucian chuckled beside him, eyes narrowed. "You are kind of entertaining when you're bleeding."
But it wasn't enough.
The hellhound's roar shattered the night. Three heads dripping acid, it crashed into the camp, tearing through tents and screaming refugees.
Kael's eyes snapped to Elara and Jasen—cornered, nowhere to run.
"Go!" he shouted.
Lucian darted forward, shadows flickering as his scythe cleaved into a demon's neck—but more swarmed in. His nullifying pulse flickered as he gritted his teeth. "They're choking my magic..."
Kael spun the staff, green and red light trailing behind it. "Cover me!" he barked, then surged forward—crashing into the horde with a fury. Demons clawed at him, blows thudding into his ribs. He slammed the staff into the earth, knocking a few back—but too many remained.
Dante was fire incarnate, blazing past Kael to reach Elara—but the hellhound intercepted him, its acid breath splashing across his flame shield. He screamed, flames dimming as he crashed to one knee. "I can't hold it—!"
Lucian threw himself between Elara and a charging demon, arms out. "Get them out!" His body took the hit—he coughed blood, falling hard. "Move, damn it!"
Kael fought like a demon himself—staff twirling, eyes wild, body breaking—but it wasn't enough. For every demon he downed, three more clawed in. His arms trembled, legs giving out. He caught Jasen's eyes—terrified, reaching for him—before a demon ripped the boy away.
"No!" Kael roared, lunging—only to be grabbed and smashed into the dirt.
Dante tried to rise, tried to burn—but molten chains wrapped around him, dragging him down.
Lucian's vision blurred. "We're not... done..." he murmured before a flaming mace sent him flying.
Ignatius stepped through the chaos, unbothered. His voice calm, cruel. "You fight well... but you've already lost."
Elara screamed as a demon seized her.
Kael clawed toward them, bloodied hand stretching for the staff—its golden dragons glinting faintly.
He touched it. The ground trembled.
Then—nothing.
A boot crashed down on his back. Ignatius loomed. "Thief," he growled, gesturing to Lucian. "Liar. Relic. All captured."
Chains bound them.
And the firelight dimmed.