The sky split.
Torvin's Ragnarok's Maw pulsed with apocalyptic energy, its crimson aura warping the very air. The ground beneath him shattered, fissures spiderwebbing outward as the blade's Endbringer's Call reached its zenith. The sheer pressure of his mana crushed nearby soldiers—royal and Bryndis alike—forcing them to their knees.
Yet Alice and Astra stood unwavering, their expressions blank, their bodies untouched by the crushing aura.
Lucius Drayford squinted against the blinding radiance of the Solflare Prism, his tactical mind racing. The artifact was the linchpin of Bryndis' strategy—its searing light had crippled the royal army's coordination. If it remained, the battle would tilt irreversibly in Bryndis' favor.
Gritting his teeth, he thrust a finger toward the source of the light and bellowed:
"Torvin! Destroy that artifact!"
