The blow landed with a sickening crack.
Kyrntar was thrown from his feet, the brutal force of Marra's mace striking like an avalanche of ice and shadow. The blast tore through his armor as if it were paper, freezing his flesh to the bone. The necrotic chill clung to him, not just biting but burrowing into his veins, turning his muscles rigid, his breath cold and shallow. His sword slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly across the floor as his vision fractured. He slammed into the wall, the collision rattling his bones and sending a sharp jolt of agony through his skull. The taste of blood filled his mouth as darkness momentarily threatened to overtake him.
Pain exploded through him, radiating from every nerve as he slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. The cold seeped into his very core, numbing his limbs, and for a terrifying moment, Kyrntar couldn't move. His thoughts were a whirlwind of pain and doubt, his body struggling to respond. He knew if it were not for his frost dragon ancestry and paladin training, the cold and necrotic damage would of ended him.
Marra wasted no time. With a snarl, low and vicious, she turned her gaze toward Vikra. The frost that pulsed around her seemed to throb in time with her fury, each dash she took toward the assassin dripping with malice. The Black Frost mace in her hands shimmered with malevolent power, its dark, icy tendrils writhing as if hungry for blood. In a single, savage swing, the mace collided with Vikra, the impact echoing like a death knell. The blow hurled Vikra back, her body crumbling under the overwhelming force of Marra's vicious strike.
The cold hit like a sledgehammer, an unrelenting wall of frost crashing through her veins, suffocating her from the inside out. It wasn't just the cold—it was the slow, creeping grip of death, an invisible hand squeezing her heart until she thought it might burst. Her breath hitched, the air like shards of glass in her throat. Her feathers began to turn pale, frost spreading in web-like patterns as her life force was drained, each breath shallower than the last. Vikra's movements slowed to a crawl, her limbs betraying her as the cold tightened its grip. Her vision blurred, the edges darkening as she teetered on the brink, the frost pulling her closer to the abyss. Every second that passed, her strength slipped further away, the necrotic ice devouring her vitality, her life hanging by a thread, one that was rapidly fraying. She was in mortal peril, and with every breath, she was slipping further away.
Marra's mace swung again, this time toward Druvon. He braced himself, but the force behind her strike was immense. The Black Frost mace collided with his shield, and though Druvon was sturdy, the blow reverberated through his entire body. The combined chill of the necrotic frost and the raw physical power of the strike sent a shockwave through him. His teeth clenched as the cold seeped through his armor, biting into his flesh. His legs buckled slightly under the weight of the blow, but he stood firm, refusing to yield. The damage was significant, but Druvon was a wall of resilience, absorbing the pain to protect his allies.
The battlefield remained steeped in an oppressive atmosphere. The air was thick with the stench of corruption, and the shadows seemed to press in closer, as if waiting to claim the lives of the weary party. There was no sudden change—no worsening, no relief—just the cold, steady grip of darkness that loomed over them. But time was slipping away. Vikra's condition worsened with each passing second, the necrotic ice crawling through her veins. She needed help—and fast—before the cold claimed her for good.
Kyrntar's eyes flicked to her, panic rising in his chest. They were running out of time. The radiant energy still thrummed through his veins, but it wouldn't be enough. Marra had to be stopped, and soon, or they would lose Vikra—and with her, any hope of victory.
As the battle raged on, the once-blazing glow of Warden's Fury began to dim, its light flickering like a dying flame. The protective aura of the ward, which had shielded them from the worst of Marra's corruption, dissolved into the oppressive darkness of the temple. The cold, malevolent energy of the place pressed down on them, suffocating, as if the very air conspired to steal their breath. Kyrntar, his sword still warm from the divine strike that had torn into Marra, felt the weight of the moment. The critical blow had been struck, but the victory was far from certain. The darkness was still clawing at them, more relentless and ravenous than ever before.
Vikra staggered, her daggers trembling in her grasp as the Black Frost crept further across her body, its icy fingers crawling beneath her skin. Every second, the cold grew more unbearable, sapping her strength, pulling her closer to the edge. Her breaths came in shallow, painful gasps, the frost biting deep into her flesh, draining her vitality with a cruel efficiency. She fought to stay upright, her vision narrowing, but the weight of the necrotic ice felt like chains, dragging her down, inch by inch, toward oblivion.
Druvon, the unwavering shield of the party, stood firm, but even he was beginning to feel the toll of Marra's relentless onslaught. His armor, once gleaming with the light of protection, now felt heavy with the lingering cold of her necrotic magic. His muscles burned with exhaustion, his movements slowing as he deflected strike after strike. The chill clung to him, gnawing at his bones, sapping his strength with each blow he absorbed. Yet even in his weariness, Druvon's eyes burned with determination. He would not fall. He could not. Not while Kyrntar and Vikra still drew breath.
Kyrntar looked between them—his companions, struggling to hold on as the corruption of the temple weighed heavily upon their souls. His heart ached, not just from the physical strain, but from the bitter realization that they were losing ground. He clenched his sword tighter, the metal cool against his sweat-slicked palms. *Not like this,* he thought, *we cannot fail here.* His mind raced for a plan, but every second brought Marra closer, her twisted form still pulsing with the malevolent power of the dragon amulet.
Vikra's breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as the necrotic ice gnawed at her flesh, tightening its grip like a merciless vise. Pain shot through her with every movement, a constant reminder that her body was on the verge of collapse. The Black Frost had invaded her veins, chilling her from the inside, threatening to claim her entirely. The freezing tendrils coiled around her bones, tugging at her strength, urging her to give in. But Vikra was no stranger to pain—she had survived worse, and she wouldn't let this darkness consume her without a fight.
Every step was agony, yet her instincts took over, sharp and unyielding. She moved not with fury, but with the precise grace of a predator cornered but not beaten. Her body twisted through the shadows, avoiding every strike, every misstep that could send her tumbling into oblivion. The frost clawed at her ankles, her limbs growing heavier with each passing second, but still, she remained on her feet. Her movements were deliberate, each one a calculated effort to keep the icy death at bay. The cold sank deeper, curling around her heart, slowing her pulse to a dangerous rhythm.
But Vikra clung to that thread of life, fragile though it was. Her will was iron, her determination fierce, even as the frost threatened to break her. What she didn't know was the worst was yet to come.
Across the battlefield, Druvon's fury boiled over. The sight of Vikra's suffering sent a surge of rage through his veins, fueling his every step. With a bellow of anger, the massive warrior charged at Marra. Despite his size, Druvon moved with surprising speed, his bulk barreling toward her like an unstoppable force. His armor clanged as he closed the distance, each footfall shaking the ground beneath him. Marra barely had time to react to the sheer speed of his advance, her wicked smile fading for a fraction of a second.
But in his rage, Druvon's precision faltered. His swing, though powerful, lacked the focus it needed. As he brought his weapon down with all his might, Marra moved like liquid shadow, slipping effortlessly out of his reach. His swing missed its mark, but in his momentum, he pivoted, catching Marra off guard with his shield. She snarled as the impact knocked her back, just enough for Kyrntar to strike.
Kyrntar, witnessing Druvon's assault, seized the opportunity to strike. His greatsword gleamed in the dim light as he swung with all his strength, the weight of the blade cutting through the oppressive air. But Marra, now fully focused and agile, saw the strike coming. With a swift, graceful movement, she dodged the blow, her body twisting like a serpent as she avoided the arc of his sword.
His blade sliced through empty air, missing its target by a breath. But instead of faltering, he used the momentum to pivot sharply, driving his shield forward in a brutal arc. The force of the blow caught Marra off guard, slamming into her with a thunderous impact. A snarl escaped her lips as she staggered back, momentarily unbalanced. It was all Kyrntar needed. Seizing the opening, his sword flashed forward, aiming for the heart of the darkness that consumed her.
The blade sank deep, its blade sparking as it met the corruption within. Marra let out a piercing cry, but instead of agony, it was laced with mocking laughter. 'Oh, how you wound me, Kyrntar,' she sneered, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. Her twisted form shimmered with malevolent energy, the wound knitting together almost as quickly as it had appeared. 'Is this the best you can do?' she taunted, her dark eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as she stepped toward him, seemingly unfazed by the strike." her eyes flicking toward Vikra, her smile widening as she watched the rogue fight for every breath.
Vikra, barely holding on, groaned as the Black Frost's icy tendrils gripped her lungs tighter with every breath, each taunt cutting through her remaining resolve. Her dagger trembled in her hand, her once-fluid movements now sluggish as doubt took hold. The shadows that once gave her strength now felt like shackles, pulling her down as her mind fought to stay clear.
With a ragged breath, Vikra summoned what little strength she had left, her body a battlefield of pain and desperation. She surged forward, her gripped dagger flashing through the air like a last-ditch attempt at survival. But the Black Frost had already sunk its claws into her. Agony ripped through her body, her limbs freezing as the curse spread. Her swing faltered, the blade veering off course, and she staggered, her legs buckling under the weight of the ice now gnawing through her bones.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, her body convulsing as the frost gnawed at her flesh. Her strength faded with every second, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she coughed, the icy curse choking her. The bitter cold consumed her, pulling her further toward the brink, leaving her breathless and powerless.
Vikra gasped for air, her dagger slipping from her grip as the frost encased her body. Just one more step, she thought, one more strike—but her body refused. And then, everything went cold.