The ground quaked beneath Elara's feet as the sky split apart, unleashing torrents of fire upon the battlefield. Smoke and ash choked the air, but she stood unshaken, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. This was it—her last stand.
"You will never shroud the world in darkness, Nyxar!" she cried, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
With a surge of desperate fury, she charged forward, her sword gleaming with an ancient power long sealed within its core. As she swung it, the blade erupted in radiant light, pulsing like a heartbeat against the void. Then, from the depths of that glow, a spectral figure emerged—a forgotten guardian of old, rising to fight by her side.
Nyxar chuckled, slow and deliberate, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, Elara, you truly amuse me. There is nothing that can stop me now—not your feeble resistance, not even that pathetic excuse for an ancient spirit."
A surge of darkness coiled around his outstretched hand, swallowing the very light from Elara's sword. The sacred glow flickered, dimming as if suffocated by his power.
Reacting in an instant, Elara leaped backward, her heart pounding. If she had hesitated even a moment longer, the void would have consumed her completely. But even now, she could feel it—the drain on her strength, the pull of her essence being siphoned away.
Her grip on the sword tightened, but doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. A fight at this range is suicide. I can't take him down like this...
Elara surged forward once more, her speed unmatched—but this time, the ancient spirit moved ahead of her, acting as a shield against the abyssal pull of Nyxar's power.
She knew what she had to do. Forgive me...
The spirit was never meant to be sacrificed, but Elara had no choice. She was no master of ranged combat, and this was the only way to stop Nyxar from seizing control of the skies. If she failed here, Nyxar would claim the sky, plunging everything beneath it into shadow.
As she closed the distance, Nyxar's power lashed out, consuming the spirit's energy like a predator devouring its prey. The spectral figure resisted, its ethereal form trembling as it fought against the pull, buying precious seconds—just enough for Elara to strike.
With her last reserves of strength, she lunged, her sword aimed straight for Nyxar's heart.
Blood spilled from Nyxar's chest as Elara's blade pierced his heart. He staggered, eyes wide with disbelief. "Is this... the end?" he rasped, his voice trembling with pain.
Fueled by rage, Elara tightened her grip and drove the sword even deeper. Her fury burned like wildfire, consuming every thought—until something strange happened.
Nyxar's voice. It sounded familiar. Too familiar.
A sudden shift, a flicker in reality—before she could even process it, everything changed.
In an instant, she was no longer the one holding the blade. She was the one impaled.
A sharp, searing pain shot through her chest as she gasped in horror. Nyxar stood before her, unharmed, wearing a wicked grin. His laughter rang out, sharp and mocking.
"Did you really think this was your fairytale, Elara?" he sneered. "That I'd fall for such a pathetic trick?"
Elara refused to surrender to despair. She reached out, trying to grasp him—trying to do something—but her strength was fading. Her breath hitched, breaking into ragged gasps as Nyxar laughed louder, his voice echoing through the battlefield like a death knell.
With a cruel smirk, he yanked the sword free from her chest, and her body crumpled backward.
Lying on the cold ground, her vision blurred. The last thing she saw was the full moon, hanging high above, indifferent to her fate.
Darkness crept in. Her body grew numb.
And slowly… she faded away.