Damon stood by the dark stairwell beneath the altar, clad in his Ascendant armor. He debated equipping the Sovereign Mantle form—but ultimately left it in the standard Light Ascendant shell. The ashen crown hovered like a halo on his head, casting a faint spectral gleam.
It was morning—the day they planned to leave the cathedral.
The others were gathered behind him, weapons drawn and silent. Xander stood next to him, completely encased in the imposing armor of the Bound Colossus, its Sovereign Mantle active.
The stairwell exhaled a faint dusty scent. The air hung heavy—like a tomb sealed for centuries.
Damon frowned, glancing at Xander.
"Meatshield, you go first…"
Xander narrowed his eyes, conjuring a floating barrier of gravity magic, for added protection. Though he doubted it would do much.
"I think you mean Frontline fighter..."
Damon clicked his tongue, slightly irritated.
"Just go ahead."
