The battle had reached its peak.
Kaelen's shield flickered, cracks spreading across its surface like spiderwebs. He had held against a god for longer than any mortal should, but even five thousand years of preparation had limits. Dagon's latest assault—a concentrated beam of divine force—slammed into the barrier and sent fractures racing toward its center.
"Hold!" Kaelen shouted, pouring more power into the shield. His arms trembled. Sweat streamed down his scarred face.
Seraphine's threads wrapped around Dagon's limbs, slowing his movements, buying time. But each thread that touched him dissolved within seconds, eaten away by the god's innate power. She spun new ones faster, her hands moving in patterns too quick to follow, but the rate of dissolution was accelerating.
