The fog lifted. The void-walker was gone. Only Ren remained in the crater, arm blackened, chest heaving faintly.

No silence followed. The sky was still alive with fire. Thousands of mages clashed across the horizon, streaks of flame, lightning, and frost colliding like storms. Screams folded into the roar of magic. The ground itself had become a battlefield of collapsing trenches, shattered wards, and burning ruins.

But in the center, all eyes fixed on the descent from above.

The remaining commanders did not wait. They came together.

The second to land was a figure of wings—obsidian feathers tipped in violet fire. His frame was lean, armored only in strips of black metal. His face was sharp, cold, his eyes hunting. When his wings spread, ash rained from them. He looked only at Ervin.

The third came in thunder. His bulk was vast, not like Gravos' mountain frame but corded, knotted muscle wrapped in layered scales. His eyes glowed like furnaces. He wielded two axes, each humming with bloodthirst. He met Vael's gaze and smiled, teeth like broken blades.

The fourth arrived without impact. She drifted downward, robes trailing like rivers of ink. Masks of bone circled her head in orbit, each turning, whispering. She touched the ground and the air became heavy, as if breath itself was taxed. Her pale hand pointed at Elara.

And the last, the fifth, descended slowest. His armor was smooth obsidian, his helm crested, his weapon a blade longer than a man. He radiated no heat, no sound, only inevitability. His presence bent even Ren's fog aside. He raised the sword and pointed directly at him.

The circle was drawn.

Four stood in ruin, battered, bloodied, barely upright. Four more stood against them, fresh, unbroken, the King's shadow at their back.

Ervin's chest burned. Lightning still flickered at his fingertips though his mana lines screamed. His thoughts narrowed.

["One each. No chance of rotation, no room for aid. To falter is to collapse the line."]

Vael shifted into stance, dagger reversed, blood dripping steadily from his left hand. His breathing rasped, but his smile was thin and sharp.

Elara pressed her hand to her ribs, light flickering through cracked veins. Her chin rose anyway.

Ren's gaze was steady, black fog circling his frame like a second skin.

The commanders moved at once.

The winged one surged upward, feathers igniting. He cut through the storm above, dragging Ervin with him into the sky. Bolts of violet chased him, and Ervin answered with his own lightning. Their duel split the heavens.

The scaled brute charged groundward, axes sweeping. The soil cracked, stones launching in his wake. Vael darted to meet him, shadow against fury, vanishing and reappearing in the storm of blades.

The masked woman extended her hand. Dozens of bone-masks detached, orbiting faster, chanting in whispers that cut through the noise of battle. Golden light met her as Elara's palm glowed, creation against corruption. Their clash warped the earth itself, flowers sprouting and withering in the same breath.

And the armored giant raised his sword. Fog and steel met with a soundless impact, the air buckling as Ren pressed into him.

The battlefield broke apart into four separate storms.

Mages above shrieked spells across burning skies. Towers fell into fire. Armies tore themselves to pieces. Yet in the middle of that chaos, eight figures held the axis of war.

The war had split into duels, but none of them were even.

Ervin's lightning tangled with violet flame, each strike blinding. He hurled firestorms and stone spires, only to see them sliced apart by feathers sharp enough to sever steel. His ribs screamed with every breath. Blood streaked down his chin. Still he forced more mana into his veins. He could not fall.

Vael was a blur of shadow. His daggers cut in arcs too fine to see, always searching for the throat, the joint, the vein. But every strike met the brute's axes. Sparks burst like fireworks. Each clash forced him back, blood soaking deeper. His breathing turned ragged, but his eyes remained locked, hunting.

Elara fought the masks. Each bone-face screamed curses that stripped skin, that tried to unmake her from within. Her light wavered but returned each time, golden roots wrapping around the land. She coughed blood into her palm but pressed her hand down again. Flowers bloomed, if only to die. Creation resisted annihilation.

And Ren's duel was quietest. His fog swallowed the armored commander's blade again and again, but the steel never broke. Each strike carved a path through erasure as if it had the right to exist where nothing should. Ren's eyes narrowed with each exchange, the fog thickening around him until neither could be seen except for the glint of black and obsidian.

The sky burned. The ground cracked. The duels consumed the battlefield.

And above them, watching still, the King had not moved.

★★★

The world fell away.

Ervin was already off the ground, dragged upward in the wake of violet fire. The winged commander's feathers spread wide, every beat of his wings scattering embers that clung to the air like burning ash.

Ervin answered with lightning.

His arm tore upward, arcs of blue-white searing the sky. The bolt struck feathers, split them, but they did not fall. They bent, then realigned, and the commander's form cut through as if the storm had opened a path for him.

Ervin's breath caught sharp in his ribs. Pain lanced his side, old wounds reopening from the strain. But he clenched his jaw and forced the five elements into sequence.

Lightning surged. Wind sharpened. Fire roared. Earth hardened his stance in the air. Water cooled his burning veins.

The commander dove.

His spear of feathers became a single lance of violet, brighter than flame, heavier than iron. It drove straight for Ervin's chest.

Ervin twisted. Stone erupted beneath his feet, forming a jagged platform in midair. He kicked off, hurling himself aside. The lance tore past him, slicing the platform in half.

The commander wheeled upward, feathers fanning into blades that curved back toward him. Dozens, then hundreds, violet shards shrieking like razors.

Ervin raised both hands. Fire roared from his palms, a wall of flame meeting the feathers. Most burned, but not all. The survivors carved lines across his shoulders and arms. Blood spattered, sizzling in the fire.

He gritted his teeth.

["His wings generate ammunition endlessly. Every feather a weapon, every strike carrying mana. Attrition favors him. I must close."]

He drove lightning through his veins, forcing his body faster. His figure blurred, propelled upward by a cyclone of wind he wove around himself. In a blink he was above the commander, hand raised, lightning and flame woven into a single core.

"Burn."

The spell detonated. A sphere of firelight engulfed the commander, lightning cracking through it. The explosion ripped the clouds apart, the battlefield below illuminated in white-gold for a heartbeat.

But through the blaze, feathers burst outward again.

The commander's form surged free, charred but unbroken. His wings beat once, scattering the storm as if it were smoke. His eyes locked on Ervin's, cold and merciless.

Then the feathers curved inward. A cage of violet blades snapped shut around him.

Ervin's pupils narrowed. He slammed his hands together, water and wind coiling into a spiral shield. The feathers struck, carving deep, some breaking through. One sliced across his thigh, another tore his shoulder. His shield shattered in fragments.

He plummeted, bleeding, vision shaking.

But his mind held sharp.

["I cannot match him above. I must drag him down."]

He forced his hands together. Earth surged even in the sky, pulled from the shattered ground below, jagged pillars spearing upward. The weight of stone cut through the feather cage, opening gaps.

Ervin dropped through them, blood trailing.

The commander followed, wings folding into a spear of violet flame as he descended. The air screamed with the force.

Ervin landed hard, knees buckling, ribs cracking. He spat blood, then raised his arms. Stone rose around him in a circle, jagged towers forming a fortress in the cratered ground. Lightning crackled between them, a net woven tight.

The commander struck.

Violet fire clashed with the stone, shattering walls, burning through wards. But lightning wrapped him, coiled into his feathers, grounding the storm through his wings. The air blazed white as fire and lightning tangled.

Ervin staggered forward, blood streaking his face. His voice was low, nearly a growl.

"You bleed with me now."

The fortress detonated.

Lightning surged outward from every pillar, converging on the commander's form. Violet wings buckled under the storm, feathers incinerated one after another. His cry tore through the battlefield, louder than the clash of armies.

And when the dust cleared, the commander's wings were blackened, edges ragged, his armor cracked. But his eyes still burned violet. He did not fall.

Ervin collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, blood spilling down his arm. His mana veins screamed.

Above, the commander spread his broken wings again. Slowly. Painfully. But they spread.

The duel was far from finished.

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