The Heretic Vassals burst through the ruined gates of the dungeon, their faces grim with resolve.
The chaos on the surface was far worse than they had imagined.
Fires raged across the stronghold, the ground littered with the corpses of soldiers and Undead alike. The acrid stench of battle clung to the air, and the distant sounds of clashing steel reverberated in their ears.
But what froze them in their tracks wasn't the destruction.
It was the sight of their master, Lord Mors, bound by luminous chains of divine light, his form slumped and unmoving as Michael stood over him, the radiant lance still embedded in his chest.
The Apostle's silver armor gleamed against the backdrop of carnage, a stark contrast to the dark aura that surrounded their fallen leader.
Lili's eyes widened in horror as she let out a scream that tore through the battlefield.
"No! Master!" Her voice was raw, filled with anguish and fury.
