He was the last one standing.
The final chamber was small. A dead-end storage alcove at the absolute bottom of Kharn Moldur's mine system, a pocket of air and rock that the magma hadn't reached yet. Thordak pressed his back against the wall. His armor had partially fused to his body. His left arm was a ruin of melted metal and charred tissue. His beard was gone, burned away, and the skin beneath it was raw and blistered.
The magma crept through the doorway. Slow now, gentle, a thin sheet of molten rock that spread across the stone with patience.
"No! Damn it!"
It touched his boots.
Thordak jumped. A desperate, animal lunge straight upward, his good hand clawing at the ceiling, his fingers scraping rough stone. He caught a lip in the rock and hung there for half a second before his weight - combined with his bad grip - ripped him free and he crashed back down.
