A golden spear screamed down from the heavens like divine judgment, crashing straight into the center of the swirling vortex known as the Nighthral. Upon impact, a colossal shockwave of golden energy erupted outward.
KABOOOOMMM!
The pull of the vortex shattered. The air cleared with a burst of pressure, sending dust and smoke spiraling into the sky. In an instant, the suffocating dark mist was dispelled—and with it, the crushing force that had nearly dragged hundreds of elves to their deaths.
Where death had once been certain, silence now lingered.
And then they saw it.
A massive golden spear—longer than a war tree and glowing like molten sunlight—was lodged deep in the Nighthral's back.
Its barbed form pulsed with radiant power, pinning the beast in place. The creature twitched, momentarily stunned by the sudden, devastating strike.
From below, Mathes lifted his bloodstained face and blinked through the haze. His vision focused, and his eyes welled with tears.
