The noise didn't die down.
It got louder. More layered. Like someone had turned up the volume on a broken world.
Screams. Claws on stone. The hiss of something unholy dragging itself across wood. And underneath it all, the hum of mana being ripped out of the ground like roots from a corpse.
Lindarion couldn't hear himself breathe.
Didn't matter.
The fire still worked.
'Still here. Still burning. That counts.'
His coat was soaked through. Not blood. Not sweat. Just melt. Ice mixing with heat, soaking through every layer. His gloves were scorched at the tips. His fingers barely felt real.
A monster lunged.
Too fast. Too close.
He didn't think.
He punched it in the face with a fist wrapped in flame.
It shrieked, head first, body second. Black mist coughed out of its shattered eye sockets as it tumbled back into the crowd.
Ashwing darted through the gap and pounced the next one.
Tail whipping. Wings flared.
The little bastard actually looked excited.
