The Devils pooled every ounce of their strength into the assault on the final Specter, unleashing a storm of corrupted fire, shadow-forged weapons, and infernal sorcery. The entity, already weakened, began to stagger under the relentless barrage. A limb was severed, one of its colossal legs blown clean off in a thunderous explosion of black fire, leaving it unbalanced and unable to stand.
Barkial seized the opportunity. With a roar that shook the air, he raised his rust-stained machete high, molten blood still dripping from his wounds. He poured every last drop of power into his swing, cleaving downward in an arc so heavy the stone beneath his feet cracked under the pressure. The blade cut from the Specter's right shoulder to its ribs, splitting the phantom guardian into two jagged halves.
The towering figure shuddered, its cold flames flickering one final time before it collapsed, crumbling into a storm of particles that dissolved into the choking darkness of the citadel.
