The battlefield had changed.
What began as steel against steel had turned into something unholy. The Veilspawn poured through the cultists' summoning circle, their shapes half-wrought, as if nightmares were trying to tear free from flesh. Horns melted into faces, arms twisted into claws, and black ichor hissed wherever it struck the mud.
"Gods take them…" Darric muttered, planting his halberd as a wall of the creatures surged.
"They're not gods," Isryn said coldly, her staff weaving sigils. "Just the Veil. And the Veil can bleed."
Kael was already moving. His crimson aura flared, heat rolling off him in waves that scorched the mist. He cut through the first of the spawn with a downward stroke that split it in two. The thing screamed—not with a voice, but with the echo of a hundred whispers.
Lyra loosed arrow after arrow, each finding its mark in a creature's skull, each burning out black ichor with silver flame. "Too many," she spat, loosing again. "For every one that falls, three more rise."
Kaelen raised a hand, his voice a command wrapped in old magic. "Then strike the circle. Break the tether!"
Isryn understood before the others. She thrust her staff into the mire, runes exploding outward. A surge of violet fire licked across the ground, searing through cultists and unraveling part of the summoning glyph.
The Veilspawn screeched, faltering. But more cultists rushed to replace the fallen, blood spraying from their own throats to feed the circle.
Kael's sword vibrated in his grip. His aura burned brighter, edges unraveling like flame on the wind. His chest heaved as though something within wanted out.
He knew what it was.
He had felt it once before—at the Hollow Spire. The Crimson Spark.
"Not yet," he hissed under his breath. His hand tightened on the hilt. "Not unless there's no other choice."
But the battlefield wasn't going to give him a choice.
The Veilspawn surged again, driving the companions apart. Darric roared, halberd cleaving two in a single sweep. Lyra vaulted back onto higher ground, arrows raining death. Isryn's barrier flared violet as claws scraped against her.
Kael found himself surrounded, a dozen of the spawn circling, their jaws opening wider than human throats should. His crimson aura seethed, his blade humming like a living thing.
He bared his teeth, the fire in his veins threatening to consume him.
"Then burn," he whispered.