Suddenly, the massive orbs contracted and violently expelled hyper-pressurised streams of water. The jets were terrifyingly sharp—easily strong enough to cleanly slice through solid iron. The water beams hammered relentlessly against our divine dome, causing the magical barrier to dangerously buckle and hiss under the immense pressure.
Father held his ground. While his left hand continuously channelled raw magic to maintain the flickering dome, he whipped the wand in his right hand toward the mud beneath us. He rapidly transfigured the earth, pulling massive slabs of dense bedrock up from the soil to physically intercept the cutting streams of water. The thick stone walls instantly shattered under the pressurised blasts, but it bought our shield precious seconds of relief.
I gripped my gladius tightly, feeling my own mana surge. I could not just stand by and watch. I braced my boots against the mud, fully prepared to step outside the dome and enter the fray to assist the golems.
But before I could even cross the boundary, a dark shape plummeted from the misty canopy above.
With a sickening thud, a figure crashed violently into the mud just inches outside the protective perimeter of our dome.
I gasped, freezing in my tracks. It was Hazkar. He was breathing in ragged, shallow gasps, his body battered and broken. But what truly sent a spike of terror through my chest was his right arm. The iridescent green shell and petrified grey flesh were completely gone, entirely replaced by a creeping, suffocating pitch-black corruption.
"Hadrian!" he gasped, his voice choked and raspy. "You must leave now. We were wrong. It was not Mother that called to me. She is not Mother anymore." He spoke nearly in tears.
Father had a grim face. "This is no time to be speaking in riddles," he said, moving towards Hazkar and gazing straight into his eyes.
Within moments, he pulled back. "You will die, Hazkar," Father declared. "You cannot fulfil our bargain, and I will be forced to leave. How is it possible for this corruption to affect even gods? There is too much at stake here for me to leave without getting any answers." Father seemed deeply conflicted.
Eventually, he released a heavy sigh. "Fine! Fine!" he said in frustration. "I will leave, but it will take time. I do not think this Taint you speak of will let us leave as easily as you say."
Hazkar gave a reluctant sigh. "No, it will not, but I will die regardless. It will be far nobler to die to give you an opportunity to escape than to become a slave to this corruption."
"Father, what is happening?" I asked, not understanding what was being spoken.
"Mother Rhoyne has been corrupted, Hermione. The corruption was using the last remaining vestige of her self to attract us to this place. It is no more real than the reflection one sees in water. She is Tainted."
"Can we not do anything?" I asked.
Father shook his head in response. "I have not faced this corruption before. I do not know enough about it to counter it. Divinity can resist it, but it would seem even that is not a true solution. There is still much we do not know, and that is working against us. I thought this mist was a magical phenomenon, and I was right, but the depths of its sinister nature were unknown to me. Now we must escape so we may devise ways to combat it from spreading further," Father answered with a tense countenance.
Hazkar stepped forward. "I bid you good fortune in the wars to come, Hadrian. Mine is at an end."
Father nodded to his words, almost bowing in his gesture. It was an acknowledgment he rarely gave to people. The first I had ever seen him do it.
Hazkar turned to me "Hermione I hope you will forgive me for the sins I committed against you, and the ones I intended to commit. Even if you cannot I shall understand. I hope you never have to experience circumstances such as these again"
…
Third Person POV
Hazkar did not wait for the Shrouded Lord to launch another barrage. With a sudden, explosive burst of speed, the ancient river deity leapt directly toward the floating monstrosity, entirely disregarding the lethal streams of water hammering against the dome. He sailed through the damp air, his left arm rapidly hardening and shifting into shimmering, iridescent green scales.
Hazkar caught onto the Shrouded Lord's levitating form, using his momentum to violently bludgeon the creature with his hardened fist.
"Garin!" Hazkar roared, his voice echoing over the chaotic plaza. "Your accursed pride and arrogance have finally come full circle. The last vestiges of the Rhoyne will be erased today!"
The Shrouded Lord—now revealed to be none other than Prince Garin the Great, the ancient ruler who had called down the curse—did not flinch. He slowly raised his stitched, leathery hands, aggressively channelling the massive spheres of corrupted water to attack Hazkar.
"Oronya ar angayarya netyaner nossanya," Garin hissed, his ghostly voice slicing through the din of battle. "Tiruva elye, nauvar sí rucandë, lá haryuva ohtar ilya cenië. Quantuvar ilyë Valiryannor." [My pride and arrogance have saved our people. Look at them; they are now so strong that no soldier shall ever beat them. They will kill all Valyrians.]
At Garin's command, the massive, hovering jets of water violently morphed. They elongated into thick, whip-like tentacles with razor-sharp, pressurised edges. The aquatic appendages moved with blinding speed, lashing out at the corruption-stricken Hazkar. The ancient deity raised his scaled arm to defend himself, but the Taint had severely weakened his divine armour. The water tentacles sliced cleanly through his shimmering green scales, violently severing Hazkar's left arm at the elbow in a sickening spray of blood.
Hazkar fell back, crashing heavily onto the damp cobblestones.
Garin the Great floated higher, looking down upon the maimed god with absolute, suffocating disdain.
"Ni lle ná i úvanyarë alcarinya," the Shrouded Lord continued, his voice vibrating with millennium-old fury. "Ánë ar ambarë nelyë Valar, nelyë arani, ar nelyë ú-carë i Valinorwa malcarë, mal ú-túlielyë ar ú-tarielyë. Ar sí, náinëa i Valar nelyë, ar nelyë ú-nóro, ar i Valinorwa quentë i neri ar nissi. Sí, nin ná i tyelca, ar lle quentë nin ná i ú-mána." [It is you who has betrayed our glory. I prayed and begged you gods to help us fight the cursed Valyrians, but you lifted no finger. You continued to dwell in your own personal fights while they massacred our people. Now I stand mighty, and you call me accursed.]
Sensing the grievous injury of the river god, the thousands of Stone Men who had been fruitlessly throwing themselves against Hadrian's golems suddenly changed their tactics. Broken, bleeding, and entirely feral, the horde abandoned the stone titans and charged directly toward the fallen Hazkar.
From the safety of the flickering dome, Hadrian watched the unfolding tragedy with cold, calculating silence.