Krayn fell—just like Varon, Raphal, and Zal'ith.
Out of the initial five Irethol Progenitors—only Elyra remained.
And she…
She was in no condition to fight.
"Haaah… Haa…. Haahh…"
She gasped for air, her body cracked with golden fissures as she swung her blade, blocking three spears at once. Every single impact sent her crashing backward, overwhelming her body with pure physical might—
But…
Still—she stood.
Her ocean-blue eyes blazed with desperation.
"WHY!?!"
She screamed, her voice echoing across the sky that was now burning with golden light.
"We fight for the Light!
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!?
WHY KILL MY PEOPLE!?"
Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she stared at them, hoping—just hoping—to see even the slightest bit of hesitation.
But…
The situation was hopeless.
The enemies' eyes were empty; there was not even a single trace of emotion in them—they were… dead.
Elyra's hands trembled, her weapon cracked.
RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE
THUNDER THUNDER THUNDER
