The world burned.
The Echo-Lord's strike split the land in two, birthing canyons of molten fire that swallowed armies by the thousands. But instead of retreating, the factions doubled down, their rage and desperation drowning out fear.
The Iron Dominion struck first. Veyric's warships unleashed a bombardment so heavy it turned the skies red. Missile storms rained toward the Echo-Lord, each explosion folding space as they detonated. His war-machines, black and angular, marched through the inferno, their claws tearing down Dominion tanks like paper.
The Seer Azhira's disciples wove their hymn into reality, summoning crystalline bastions that refracted energy into devastating lances of light. Soldiers fought not with bullets but with symbols—sigils that carved through steel and shadow alike. They targeted Kaelen as much as the Echo-Lord, convinced prophecy demanded his death.
The Warlord legions descended with thunder, engines roaring, ground troops spilling out like a tide of iron. Colossal warbeasts, half-machine, half-organic, stomped across the battlefield, crushing all underfoot. The Harbinger himself appeared, a tower of armor and rage, his voice booming:
"WHO HOLDS THE SEED HOLDS THE STARS!"
Kaelen fought at the heart of the storm. His blade clashed against the Echo-Lord's with a sound like tearing planets, sparks falling as miniature suns. He could barely hold ground. Every strike left him reeling, every parry a reminder that his strength alone wasn't enough.
Then Lyra rose.
Her body glowed like a beacon, golden veins of the Seed's power threading across her skin. Her voice echoed over the battlefield—not with words, but with resonance. For an instant, every soldier, every machine, every creature froze, hearts beating in perfect rhythm with hers.
The battlefield itself shifted. Some dropped weapons in awe. Others screamed in terror. The factions realized—she was no mere vessel. She was the Seed.
The Echo-Lord snarled, shadows coiling tighter. "Yes. Finally… revealed."
He struck toward Lyra. Kaelen intercepted, his blade catching the blow, the shockwave ripping both men across the burning plain.
Above, the Black Sun pulsed, feeding on the chaos, growing brighter, hungrier. Two suns burned now—Lyra's light against the Echo-Lord's shadow. The galaxy seemed to hold its breath as the war reached its breaking point.
And in the silence before the next strike, Kaelen whispered to himself:
This is no longer a battle. This is the end of worlds.
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