The Eternal Ember's brief dimming and the volcano's violent reaction seemed to flip a switch, unleashing total destruction.
Rust Island wasn't just shaking anymore—it was screaming. From the central caldera, massive cracks glowing with dark red energy spread like a maddened spider's web, visibly tearing the land apart.
Scorching magma, like beasts freed from an ancient prison, burst from these fissures, flowing wildly and devouring everything in their path. Solid rust-iron layers buckled and shattered like dry biscuits, melting into the blazing torrent. The sky choked under thicker volcanic ash clouds laced with lightning and massive superheated fragments, turning day into a dark red hellscape more terrifying than the deepest night.
The air itself boiled and shimmered in the heat; every breath felt like swallowing broken glass. Deafening roars came from all directions—the sound of the earth splitting, magma surging, and mountains collapsing—the final notes of the apocalypse.
The tribal camp descended into complete chaos and panic. Orcs screamed, scrambling to escape the constantly splitting ground, but found themselves surrounded by gushing flames and rivers of lava. Makeshift huts and workshops collapsed under the violent shaking and falling volcanic debris, bursting into flames that mixed with the magma's dark red glow, illuminating faces twisted with pure terror.
"Hold! Hold the line! Everyone to the Emberstrider!" Gareth bellowed, his massive bear-paw hauling a young orc artisan back from a newly opened fissure. He grunted as a falling, burning rock grazed his shoulder, instantly scorching the fur black. He stood firm beneath the violently shaking airship frame, rallying the survivors toward their only possible refuge.
"It's breaking, Chieftain Gareth! The port-side support frame has snapped! The keel's groaning—it'll shake itself apart before we can lift off!" Warrick yelled, his voice raw, face smeared with soot and sweat as he pointed at the visibly tilting structure.
"Use anything! Beast-tendon cables! Spare bones! Your own bodies if you have to! Just keep it together!" Gareth's eyes blazed with desperation. He knew this unfinished ship, their last hope, was their only way out.
Then, amidst the world's end—
A figure shot backwards from the densest smoke and fire near the volcano's rim, tumbling through the air trailing black smoke, and crashed heavily near the Emberstrider, the impact cracking the hard ground.
Liam!
But his condition made everyone who saw him gasp in horror.
The Boiling One armor was almost completely gone, only a few shattered, dull metal fragments clinging to his body. He was mostly exposed, covered in thick soot and hardened dark red magma, as if dragged straight from a forge. Countless wounds covered him, some deep enough to reveal bone, and in places, an unnatural dark brown metallic sheen flickered beneath his skin.
But the most shocking change was his left arm.
From shoulder to fingertip, it had lost all resemblance to a living limb. It was now a grotesque construction of cooled dark red magma and some active, slightly writhing dark brown rusted metal, its surface marked with rough, ancient-looking patterns like natural runes. His fingers had lengthened into sharp claws, tips shimmering with unsettling threads of dark red energy. This arm wasn't human; it looked like a terrifying, living weapon from a mythic age.
And in the center of his bare chest, over his heart, a new mark had replaced the Pact of Wolf and Hammer insignia. It was an incredibly intricate, slowly spinning vortex of dark red and rust-brown, its center seeming to hold a tiny, still-pulsing fragment of the Eternal Ember!
An indescribable aura—a mix of ultimate creation and absolute destruction—radiated from him, so potent it even temporarily suppressed the volcanic fury in the small area around him!
"The King! It's the King!" an orc recognized him, crying out as if rescued from the jaws of death.
Gareth and Warrick rushed forward.
"My King! You..." Gareth's voice failed him. He stared at Liam's inhuman arm and the chest mark, feeling the soul-shaking presence, and found himself speechless.
Liam slowly, painfully pushed himself up. His movements were stiff, especially the left arm, which made subtle grinding sounds like rock scraping against metal as it moved. He lifted his head, his face masked in grime and blood, but his eyes...
Those eyes were no longer human. Deep within the pupils, dark red magma seemed to flow, rust-colored motes of light winking in and out. They held endless pain, savagery, and a cold, detached indifference that looked down upon the world. It was as if the volcano's core had not just remade his body, but had torn apart and rebuilt part of his soul.
His gaze swept over the chaotic camp, the battered Emberstrider, the mix of hope and fear on every face, and finally settled on his own monstrous left hand.
He slowly clenched the left fist.
"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM—!"
An invisible pulse of energy washed out from him, and the fine tremors in the ground quieted for a moment.
No explanations. No time for grief. The final image of Elara and her soul-scream were burned into him, driving him forward.
He raised that terrifying left hand and pointed at the listing Emberstrider.
"Energy..." His voice was a harsh rasp, like rusted metal grinding, yet it held an undeniable command. "Connect it. To me."
Warrick understood instantly. Though fear filled his eyes, the will to survive overpowered everything. "Quickly! The main energy conduit! Connect it to the King... to the mark on his chest!"
Trembling, several artisans brought the thick cable—made of Ragnarok's tendons and special alloy, originally meant for the Eternal Ember. Its connector glowed faintly.
Liam looked down at the rotating Ember-mark on his chest. A complex mix of emotions—pain, resistance—flickered in his eyes before settling into a deathly calm. He raised his left hand, that monstrous, inhuman hand, and grasped the cable's connector.
Without any tools, his claw-like fingers, glowing like hot metal, easily melted through the connector's casing, making direct contact with the energy core within!
"HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS—!"
A powerful, stable torrent of energy—twining dark red, silvery-white, and a faint, stubborn thread of silver—flooded down the cable like a raging river, crashing into the Emberstrider's vast, thirsty keel matrix!
"HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM—!!!"
The entire Emberstrider hummed with the most intense, vibrant energy since its construction began! All the Volcanic Ore crystals embedded in the main keel blazed like newborn stars! From the rough, unfinished seams of the ship's armor, jets of dense, high-pressure white steam erupted, mixed with faint sparks of dark red energy!
The broken support frame locked into place under the sudden power surge. The twisted keel groaned as it realigned. It was like a slumbering giant being violently awakened, dragged back from the edge of death.
"Launch systems! Fire the launch systems!" Warrick shrieked, his voice cracking with frantic energy.
The massive steam pistons and vector thrust nozzles along the ship's belly and sides roared to life simultaneously! Immense thrust fought against gravity. The Emberstrider's huge bone-and-iron frame began to shudder violently. Then, inch by painful inch, yet with unshakable resolve... it lifted from the ground!
"All aboard! Everyone who can move, get aboard now!" Gareth screamed, organizing the survivors as they scrambled up makeshift, wildly swaying planks toward their slowly rising hope.
It was then that the Imperial fleet, finally reacting to the volcano's eruption and the Emberstrider's movement, opened fire.
Despite the chaos and blinding ash disrupting their aim, the sheer volume of Imperial naval guns unleashed a massive bombardment on the area of the airship's ascent.
"BOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—!!!!"
Countless shells tore through the thick smoke like deadly hail, exploding around the Emberstrider, sending fire and shrapnel skyward! Several near-misses slammed into the ship's new, still-too-thin side armor with heavy thuds, blasting open ugly gashes. Hot shrapnel and shockwaves swept the deck, instantly killing a dozen orc warriors who hadn't yet secured themselves.
The Emberstrider bucked and rolled violently in the storm of artillery and turbulent air, a fragile leaf in a hurricane.
Liam remained on the ground, his left hand gripping the energy cable like an anchor, providing the crucial lift-off power. His body swayed in the concussive blasts, but his eyes remained locked on the struggling ship.
A stray heavy shell, shrieking through the air, plummeted directly toward him.
Gareth, on the deck, saw it and roared. "MY KING—!"
In the instant before impact, Liam's grotesque left hand swept upwards.
He didn't touch the shell. Just a gesture through the air.
The heavy projectile halted dead in the air a dozen meters from him. Then... dark brown rust spread from it like a plague, instantly consuming the entire shell.
It didn't explode. Instead, it crumbled apart silently in mid-air as if aged millennia in a second, dissolving into a shower of rust dust scattered by the wind.
The sight stunned all who witnessed it.
Liam slowly lowered his left hand. His gaze swept over the shocked, awed, and fearful faces on the deck, and finally met Gareth's.
"Go." He spoke only one word. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the thunder of battle, reaching every ear.
He flung the energy cable in his left hand toward the ship. The cable, as if alive, retracted and locked into the Emberstrider's port. The ship, riding its momentum and the stored energy in its keel, continued climbing.
And Liam himself crouched, then launched himself upward!
"BOOM!"
The ground beneath his feet shattered. His body, sheathed in dark red magma and rusted metal, shot up like a reverse comet, trailing dark red and rust-brown energy. He soared past the ascending airship and landed perfectly on the wildly pitching foredeck.
He stood at the prow, his bare, scarred torso straight, his inhuman left arm at his side, tendrils of dark red energy curling around the claws. The fierce wind whipped his ash-covered black hair. Behind him, Rust Island exploded and died. Below, magma roared and Imperial shells burst. Ahead lay the smoke-choked, unknown sky.
The Emberstrider, this ark carrying their final hope, had finally ascended in the twilight of destruction, weathering the naval barrage, sailing into an uncertain future.
And the figure standing at its prow was no longer just the Cursed One. He looked like a god of vengeance, born from the ashes.