The ethereal blue broadswords that formed Percival's prison began to dissolve, turning into motes of light that drifted upward before fading completely.
What remained was a landscape of absolute devastation. The earth was cratered, scorched by raw mana, and littered with the broken bodies of the Wind Guard.
Some of the Awakeners were merely incapacitated, groaning weakly in the dirt, their armor shattered and their stamina entirely burned away. Others lay perfectly still… and perfectly dead.
Percival stood in the center of the carnage, the Basilisk resting casually at his side. He swept his gaze across the field of bodies, then an idea struck him.
"Theumir," Percival said as he outstretched his hand. "Awake."
A vortex of blue flames erupted a few paces away. From the swirling fire, Theumir Steelcane stepped into the physical world.
