Druvon, enraged by the sight of Vikra's suffering, surged forward once more. His heavy footfalls echoed through the chamber, but something was off. His movement, though powerful, lacked the usual precision. He was too slow, his body not responding the way it should have. Marra sidestepped his approach easily, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as Druvon stumbled to a halt.
In a desperate attempt to recover, Druvon swung his weapon, putting all his weight behind it, but the strike was wild, unfocused. Marra danced around the blow, her smile widening as the lumbering warrior missed her completely. "Pathetic," she whispered, her gaze locking onto Druvon's as he panted heavily, trying to regain his footing.
Kyrntar, shaken but still standing, let out a roar of defiance. As Kyrntar charged toward his friend, a strange warmth flickered in his chest, an energy that surged in his veins for just a moment before fading away. He shook it off, assuming it was the rush of battle, but a nagging sensation in the back of his mind told him it was something more.
Channeling every ounce of his remaining willpower, he swung his greatsword with everything he had. The blade cut through the air with a powerful, righteous force, and this time, Marra wasn't quick enough. The strike connected, sending a surge of radiant energy through her corrupted form. Marra's smile faltered as the impact sent her staggering back, her body crackling with holy power. It was a significant blow, one that turned the tide—if only for a moment.
But Kyrntar's second attack lacked the same focus. As he swung again, Marra regained her footing, twisting away from the blade with ease. His sword struck nothing but stone, the force of the miss reverberating up his arms.
Marra, her expression twisted with rage, retaliated swiftly, her Black Frost mace arcing toward Kyrntar. But he was ready. With a quick movement, he deflected her strike, the clash of weapons ringing out in the cold air. Her attack failed, her frustration growing as she realized the party was still standing.
In that brief exchange, something shifted. A strange clarity swept over the battlefield, like a break in the clouds after a storm. The oppressive weight of the Black Frost seemed to lighten just slightly, the choking atmosphere easing for just a moment. Vikra, barely clinging to life, felt the ice's grip loosen around her heart. The frost's progress slowed, giving her a fleeting moment of relief. It wasn't much, but it was enough—a small reprieve, a sliver of hope in the darkness.
And for the first time in what felt like hours, the party breathed a little easier. The battle was far from over, but they still had a chance.
As the weight of the battle presses down on Kyrntar, his keen eyes catch the subtle shifts in the battlefield. Druvon, his steadfast companion, began to ready his charge at Marra, his eyes still clouded with rage. But Kyrntar sees the frost creeping further across Vikra's body, the black ice snaking through her veins like a venomous beast. Her movements have grown sluggish, the necrotic energy threatening to overtake her entirely.
"Druvon!" Kyrntar's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and desperate. "Save your friend. Stop her from attacking—this frost is not normal!" Druvon, panting from exertion, felt the weight of his missteps crush down on him. His size, once an ally, now turned to a heavy shackle in this battle. He glanced at Vikra, her form frozen in deathly stillness. He couldn't save her, not like this. But maybe, just maybe, he could still buy Kyrntar the time he needed.
As Druvon sprints across the battlefield, the world around Kyrntar seems to slow, and for the first time since the battle began, his eyes lock onto Marra—truly seeing her. Her once-warm face is twisted into a grotesque mockery of the girl he once knew, her lips curled into a sneer that drips with malice. The dragon amulet around her neck pulses with dark energy, and with each beat, the room seems to grow colder, the shadows longer.
It's then that Kyrntar realizes it—the way Marra holds herself, the dark power that courses through her veins, the raw corruption that oozes from her every word—it's all so familiar. The cold hand of dread grips his heart as the realization dawns on him: Marra is becoming a mirror image of his brother, Izacir.
He hesitates. For the first time in this battle, doubt claws at the edges of his mind. He sees flashes of his brother—their last confrontation—the black ice that had begun to seep into Izacir's soul, just as it has with Marra. The face of the sweet girl he once knew is lost behind the monstrous visage that stands before him, but now, more than ever, she reminds him of the brother he has sworn to stop.
A low, chilling laugh escapes Marra's lips, her voice dripping with dark amusement as her eyes glint with malevolent understanding. "You see it, don't you?" Marra's voice was a cold whisper, threading through the chamber like a serpent. Her words burrowed deep into Kyrntar's mind. "He's here in me… in every shadow, every breath. This darkness is his. Can't you tell when you see your brother anymore?"
Marra's eyes gleamed as she faced Kyrntar, her smile cold and knowing. "You feel it, don't you? The power inside you, waiting to be unleashed. You think you can control it, but you have no idea what's buried in your blood, do you?"
The words crawl through Kyrntar's mind like icy tendrils, pulling at the edges of his resolve. The room seems to twist around him, the walls pressing in as the oppressive energy of the amulet grows stronger. Marra steps closer, her wicked grin widening as she watches him falter.
"If you can't stop me, Kyrntar," she coos, her voice soft and venomous, "How will you ever stop Izacir?" Her words cut deeper than any blade. "He's twice as strong as this weak vessel. If you hesitate now, what chance do you have when you face him? You've already failed once… and you'll fail again."
Her taunts burrow into his mind, filling him with visions of his brother, standing tall, shrouded in that same dark power. The amulet pulses again, and for a moment, Kyrntar can see Izacir in her place, his face twisted into the same cruel grin. His brother—the boy he had once protected—now lost to the same corruption that is devouring Marra.
The weight of his own failure presses down on him, heavy and suffocating. His hands tremble on the hilt of his sword as he sees not just the girl he couldn't save, but the brother he might already be too late to stop.
The walls close in, the shadows loom, and for the first time in his journey, Kyrntar feels the crushing weight of doubt.
But in the swirling darkness, as Marra's laughter echoed like a twisted lullaby, a voice broke through—soft, distant, yet painfully clear. "Don't give up, Kyrntar. Never hesitate. Not for her. Not for him."
It was Edric.
The sound of his voice cut through Kyrntar's chest like a knife, pulling him from the depths of despair. The memories flooded back—the warmth of Edric's steady presence, his unwavering belief. Tears welled in Kyrntar's eyes, blurring the battle before him as the weight of the past crushed his heart. I failed you, Edric. The thought strangled him, but Edric's voice persisted, gentle but insistent, like a lifeline in the storm.
"Don't do it again."
It wasn't a hard command, but a gentle reminder of the trust they shared, the promise he made. The pain in Kyrntar's heart slowly began to untwist from dread, turning into something stronger.
The words shook him, and suddenly, the world snaps back into focus. His grip tightens on his sword, and the visions of Izacir fade. Marra is still standing there, but now, she's just Marra—a twisted reflection of the girl he once knew. And though the doubt still lingers in the back of his mind, Kyrntar knows what he must do.
He raises his sword, his eyes locking with Marra's once more, Kyrntar's voice was steady, resolute, a promise forged in the fire of his past failures. "I will stop you Marra. And I will come for him."
With that, he charges forward, prepared to end this nightmare once and for all.
Marra, with a chilling laugh that echoes in the minds of the entire party, shifts her form back to the girl she once was—the sweet, innocent appearance she had before the corruption took hold.
As the the former allies begun to prepare for a final clash, Vikra's breath suddenly let out a loud hitched, a final, fragile gasp as the Black Frost surged through her veins. The necrotic energy began to fully consume her, turning flesh to ice, and before their eyes, her form stiffened. As the frost climbed over her body, Vikra's breath hitched. She knew this was the end. But in the last, fleeting moments, she stared where Kyrntar stood, focusing on Kyrntar's voice. I don't want to die her eyes seemed to whispered, her last words freezing dying in her plea, as the Black Frost claimed her.
Marra stands tall and leans back a little, her dark laughter filling the chamber as a frosty fog encircles the room. "You were too slow, Kyrntar," she taunts. "Too slow to save her, too slow to save Edric. The black ice is faster."
Kyrntar's heart pounded, his vision narrowing as the weight of failure bore down on him. Just as the darkness threatened to consume him, a presence echoed through his mind—deep, ancient, and unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting. "Awaken, my son, and seal this evil." The voice, deep and commanding, rang through his mind, though he had never heard it before. And yet, in the pit of his soul, Kyrntar knew it had always been there—watching, waiting for this very moment. The power it unleashed within him was unlike anything he had felt, as though something ancient had awakened in his blood leaving him both unsettled and drawn to its call.
A surge of power erupted from within Kyrntar, burning through the frost that had gripped his soul. His horns lengthened, curling with the ancient fury of his draconic bloodline. His vision sharpened, every detail of the battlefield etched in sharp relief. He felt the raw energy of the Draconic Warden roar through his veins—a force older than time itself. The light of his soul burned brighter, fierce and unrelenting, as he stepped forward to face Marra once more. His heart pounds with the hate, anger, and sorrow of the moment, but even through the haze of emotions, Kyrntar hears the truth in the voice.
The choice lies before him—two paths, both fraught with loss. He feels the unbearable pull of vengeance, the temptation to end Marra once and for all. But as he stands there, empowered by the divine energy coursing through him, he knows what he must do.