The valley blazed with shard‑light, flame and smoke entwined in defiance. For a moment, the alliance pressed Marlic's storm back, their unity burning brighter than grief.
Marlic's ember eyes narrowed. His laughter fell silent, replaced by a low, rumbling growl.
"You think shards make you strong? You think memory belongs to you? Then behold grief unbound."
He drove his spear into the earth.
The ground split, caverns tearing open, smoke pouring upward like blood from a wound. The storm thickened, no longer faces of the fallen but entire legions of shadow, each champion forged from betrayal itself.
The sky blackened, stars swallowed whole. The storm became an abyss, endless and alive, grief turned into a devouring void.
Ashbound torches sputtered, Emberkin shields cracked. Even shard‑light faltered against the abyss.
Elira staggered, her voice trembling. "This… this is not storm. This is grief without end."
Marlic rose above them, his form towering, spear blazing with shadow. His voice thundered across the valley:
"I am not storm. I am abyss. I am the wound that never heals. And tonight, I will consume you all."
The alliance braced, but the abyss pressed down, heavier than ever. Suspense hung thick—their unity had sparked hope, but Marlic's unleashed form threatened to devour it whole.