Inside the deepest chamber, General Aston was already finished before the real fight even began.
His back was against the cracked wall, one arm gone, blood pouring down his side in thick streams. His health was dropping at a frightening rate, and even he could feel it clearly now. Every breath sounded rough, and every attempt to move made more blood spill onto the floor.
Even so, the old war veteran's pride had not died yet.
His face twisted as he forced himself to push off the wall. His ruined body shook, but he still tried to stand. Years on the battlefield had carved that instinct into him too deeply. If he was still breathing, he would still fight.
Gabriel only spared him a glance before turning his eyes back to Torin.
Torin had finally gathered himself. Fury, fear, and caution mixed in his chest, but his hands stayed steady. He raised one arm, and several magic circles flared into existence around him. The temperature in the room surged at once.
A wave of fire shot out.
