The battle rages on for another hour.
Steel clashes. Magic detonates. Blood soaks the ground as corpses pile and banners fall. The field is chaos incarnate—commanders shouting, beasts roaring, spells screaming through the air.
Yet even with the power of the Link Skill binding Asdri and his companions can only fight to a standstill. Every blow is matched. Every advance is repelled.
Gorath, wreathed in his earthen domain.
Valia and Ingra stand at Asdri's flanks, bodies bruised, armor cracked, but eyes unyielding. Behind them, the Golden Lion Legion fights tooth and nail, holding the lines against the monstrous Bonepiercers.
Asdri growls, lightning dancing along his gauntlet. "He's not weakening."
"Neither are we," Valia pants, sword resting on her shoulder for just a breath. "But this stalemate won't last forever."
A distant crash—then a scream.
One of the soldiers from the central line turns, eyes wide in panic. "The Marshal! Marshal Tesvin is—he's…!"
His voice breaks.
