The core chamber was a cathedral of corruption.

Galthor stood at its threshold, staring at something that shouldn't exist. The Abyssal core hung suspended in the center of a vast spherical space, a pulsing mass of darkness and light that hurt to look at directly.

It was roughly the size of a house, rotating slowly, its surface rippling with patterns that might have been runes or might have been the screaming faces of the damned.

Around it, reality bent.

Up was down. Left was right. Distance became meaningless. Galthor could see the far side of the chamber clearly, but he knew instinctively that walking there would take hours or seconds, depending on factors he couldn't predict.

The core's power was immense. Even from here, he could feel it pressing against his divine essence, simultaneously attracting and repelling. It wanted him to come closer. It wanted him to stay away. It wanted to consume him and be consumed by him.

But more urgent than the core's call was the pull he felt through his worship chains.

His masters were in danger. Immediate, lethal danger. He could feel their emotions through the connection, Karathra's fierce determination, Brakthar's controlled terror, Hrothgar's savage joy, Drakira's cold calculation. They were fighting. Fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds.

And they were losing.

Galthor turned away from the core.

The chamber protested. The space itself seemed to resist, trying to hold him, trying to keep him focused on the prize that was so close. But Galthor had spent his first life trapped, unable to move, unable to act. He had spent twenty-two years learning that some things were more important than survival.

His people needed him.

Everything else could wait.

He reached into the depths of his expanded power, drawing on everything he'd consumed, the Weeping Canyon's grief, Vaskaroth's ancient strength, the memories of the perished barbarian god. The power flooded through him, more than he'd ever channeled before, pushing his divine core to its limits.

Then he became shadow.

Not just manipulating shadows. Not just moving through them. He became shadow, his entire being dissolving into the fundamental darkness that existed beneath reality. In this form, distance meant nothing. Barriers meant nothing. He could move through the spaces between spaces, flowing through cracks in existence too small for anything solid.

He moved toward his masters.

The journey was instantaneous and eternal, a single moment stretched across impossible distance. He flowed through the Abyssal land's corrupted essence, through stone and air and the twisted geometry that separated the core from the surface. The world blurred past him....or he blurred past it, he couldn't tell which.

Then he emerged.

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Karathra's axe shattered against a Kobold's shield.

The blade had been dulled by endless combat, weakened by the corruption, and now it snapped clean through, the head spinning away to clatter against stone. She was left holding a useless handle, facing a warrior twice her size who grinned with anticipation.

"Your turn to die, barbarian."

The Kobold's sword descended toward her throat....

And stopped.

A hand had caught it. A hand wreathed in silver-red light that burned with concentrated fury. The Kobold's eyes widened, his grin fading, as he tried to pull his weapon free.

It didn't budge.

"Who..."

The hand tightened. The sword shattered into fragments. The Kobold staggered backward, and for the first time, he saw who had intervened.

Galthor stood in the clearing as if he'd always been there.

His appearance was different from when Karathra had last seen him. His eyes blazed with light that had no single color, shifting between silver and red and something darker. Shadows coiled around his body like living things, and the air around him was saturated with fog that moved against the wind. His divine aura blazed so brightly it hurt to look at directly.

He looked like a god.

"Chief!" Karathra's voice was equal parts relief and disbelief. "You're alive!"

"I'm alive." Galthor's voice was deeper than it had been, carrying harmonics that resonated with power. "And I'm angry."

He turned to face the clearing.

The battle had frozen. Masters and enemy warriors alike stood transfixed, staring at this impossible figure who had appeared from nowhere. The Winged warriors hovering overhead had stopped their circling. The Xyrrh shadows had gone still. Even Alpha Carter, in the middle of crushing Hrothgar beneath his bulk, had paused.

Lord Doveling was the first to recover. His antenna twitched rapidly, processing information, recalculating odds.

"Chief Galthor," he said carefully. "You survived the Weeping Canyon. Remarkable. But your timing is unfortunate. Your masters have already been....."

"Sentenced to death for the crime of being convenient keys. Yes, I know." Galthor's eyes fixed on the Xyrrh leader, and Lord Doveling actually stepped back. "The Valley of Betrayal showed me everything. Showed me how barbarians have been used for millennia. Showed me why you needed us here."

"Then you understand," Commander Casper interjected. He'd recovered some of his bravado, though his hand trembled slightly on his weapon. "The seals require barbarian blood. Without it, the core stays closed. This was always going to happen."

"Was it?" Galthor's head tilted, and the gesture was predatory. "Tell me something, Casper. When you planned this betrayal, when you coordinated with the others to murder my people, did you ever stop to wonder what would happen if I survived?"

"You fell into the Weeping Canyon." Casper's voice was less steady now. "No one survives that."

"I didn't survive it." Galthor smiled, and there was nothing human in the expression. "I consumed it."

He released his divine aura fully.

The pressure that erupted from him was like a physical blow, a wave of concentrated power that slammed into everyone in the clearing. Weaker warriors were knocked off their feet. The Winged People's aerial formations scattered as their flight became erratic. Even the masters, protected by their worship chains, staggered under the weight.

"Who authorized this?" Galthor's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Who gave the order to sacrifice my people?"

Silence. The three banner leaders exchanged glances, each waiting for the others to speak first.

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