Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Giant straightened up completely, and its obsidian body, which had previously seemed merely a mountain of stone, acquired a predatory, ominous grace. The creature's height was such that the protective domes of Grak and Kaelen now barely reached its knees. The air around it vibrated with stagnant, heavy power that had accumulated in its Vessel for centuries, transforming from living energy into a poisonous concentrate.
The monster didn't attack itself. It opened its maw, and from it burst a thick cloud of black dust mixed with crystal fragments. But this dust didn't disperse through the hall. It began to rapidly condense, taking shape.
"Look! It's multiplying!" Mark shouted, raising his shield.
From the cloud, three creatures leaped out—smaller copies of the Giant itself. These "obsidian hounds" were the size of large bulls, their eyes burning with the same amber light, and the scales on their backs constantly vibrated, emitting an unpleasant ultrasonic screech. This was the Spirit of the ancient Adept—the Spirit of Dark Proliferation. Even exhausted, the guardian could create autonomous servants that shared its fury but not its sluggishness.
Grak the Axe felt his energy within his channels boil, demanding release. He remembered how, many years ago, when he was still a Warrior, he first saw a battle of Heralds—it had seemed to him like a dance of gods. Now he himself was the one who had to stand in the center of the storm.
"Kaelen, hold the crowd!" Grak boomed. "If your 'Falcons' let even one hound out of the circle, I'll feed them to this beast myself!"
Baron Kaelen merely smiled coldly. His golden "Aegis" suddenly expanded, acquiring a mirror-like smoothness. "Worry about your axe, Grak. My Spirit knows no breaches."
The hounds attacked simultaneously. One leaped directly at the group of Rakesh knights. Kaelen didn't swing his sword. He simply made a sharp thrust with his palm towards the monster. His Spirit of the "Golden Aegis" acted not as a shield, but as a hammer. The golden haze concentrated for a moment into a flat disc and struck the hound in the chest with immense speed. The sound of cracking stone was heard—the creature was thrown back a dozen meters, its obsidian sternum cracking.
The second hound was handled by Grak. The Commander of the Order of Order moved with a lightness frightening for his build. His energy concentrated in the blade of his axe, making the steel almost transparent with brightness.
"Cleaving Strike!" Grak roared.
He didn't just strike the creature. He struck at the very structure of its existence. The axe descended on the hound's head, and at that same instant, space along the line of the strike seemed to rupture. The creature wasn't just cleaved—it split into two perfectly even halves, which instantly crumbled into black ash, unable to hold their form under the influence of Grak's Spirit.
The battle was only beginning. The main Giant, seeing the death of its spawn, let out a guttural roar. Its enormous paw, set with claws of black obsidian, crashed down upon the combined dome of the Heralds.
The impact was so powerful that Liana and the other Warriors involuntarily crouched, feeling their own Vessels groan from the resonance. The gold and white light of the domes dimmed for a moment, buckling under the Adept's weight.
"Too heavy..." Grak thought, feeling sweat begin to sting his eyes. "Even weakened, it presses with all the mass of its rank. Kaelen is right—if this guardian hadn't been weakened by entropy, its energy would simply crush our shields along with our bones."
One of the Dynasty's knights, a Warrior named Claudius, watched Grak in fascination. He had always considered northerners clumsy savages, but the way the Order Commander managed his weight silenced him. Grak didn't just stand—he "screwed" himself into the floor, his presence so weighty that the slabs under his boots didn't crack, but seemed to melt, conforming to his form. There was no excessive pomp in his movements, only pure, concentrated function of destruction.
"Liana! Soren! Help the 'Falcons' with the third hound!" Grak commanded, holding the main weight of the Giant on his axe, crossed with Kaelen's golden shield. "The Baron and I will handle this bastard's head!"
The knights of the Order and the Dynasty, overcoming mutual animosity, engaged the last hound. It was a battle of Warriors against a creature whose rank was formally higher, but whose structure was fragile. Liana used her "Guiding Branch" to bind the monster's legs while the Rakesh knights struck with their spears.
Meanwhile, Kaelen and Grak began their counterattack. It was an incredible sight: Baron Kaelen transformed his "Aegis" into a series of small rotating shields that began literally "shaving" the obsidian scales from the Giant's chest, exposing the pulsing veins of its power.
"Now, Grak!" Kaelen shouted, concentrating all the gold of his Spirit into a single point, creating a blinding flash that blinded the monster.
Grak the Axe lunged forward. His energy flared so brightly that the shadows in the hall instantly vanished. He leaped, raising his axe above his head. His entire journey, all the years of training and battles, were poured into this single swing.
The axe blade, saturated with the power of the "Cleaving Strike," plunged into the Giant's neck. A sound erupted that made everyone present's ears ring—it was the cry of the stone itself refusing to submit to destruction. A deep crack ran along the Adept's obsidian body, and a dull amber glow gushed from it.
The monster staggered but didn't fall. On the contrary, its eyes flared with new, furious power. The weakened Adept of the past realized that before it was not mere food, but those who could end its eternal existence. And its response promised to be terrible.
"He's not finished yet..." Kaelen whispered, restoring his defense. "He's preparing something massive."
The air smelled of ozone and ancient, musty power. The battle of Heralds against the Adept was entering its decisive phase, and everyone in this hall understood: one wrong move—and they would become just more bones on the floor of this forgotten pyramid.