Rell stood, chest rising and falling, aura still smoking from his descent.

  Ducalin’s smug calm cracked—for half a second.

  “You’re persistent,” the priest said, raising his staff laced with silver-veined scripture.

  “You lie. You burn,” Rell replied. And lunged.

  They clashed. Magic and muscle.

  Rell’s fists crackled with fire-glow. He ducked under a swipe of bladed scripture, twisted, and punched Ducalin in the ribs. The priest stumbled back, coughing blood.

  Ducalin summoned a circle of warding light—Rell shattered it with a spin-kick.

  Scripture etched itself midair, wrapping around Rell’s legs—he burned it off, roaring through the restraint.

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  A second blow sent Ducalin sliding across the floor, robes torn, pride wounded.

  “You think this ends here?” Ducalin snarled, and ran.

  He vanished into a side corridor marked by bone-etched seals.

  Rell paused only a moment, then turned to Thessia.

  She was pale, bleeding—her stump bandaged by a hastily woven cloth.

  She looked up at him. “Why… why did you come?”

  Rell knelt beside her. “Bad men. Hurt girl. Must stop.”

  He held her shoulder. “Close eyes.”

  She did. Light pulsed from his hand, green and gold—healing glyphs ignited.

  Her arm began to regrow, slowly, bone and muscle laced by divine threads.

  When it was whole, she gasped—stared at her fingers, flexed them.

  Rell, softly: “Work?”

  She nodded. He gently touched her palm. “Feel?”

  She blushed—heart racing. She pulled her hand away, uncertain. Confused.

  He blinked. Didn’t understand. But didn’t question it.

  She sat up as he helped her stand. They turned toward the path Ducalin vanished down—

  **BOOM.**

  A roar tore through the far wall. The stone burst outward.

  Something stepped through.

  **Not cursed. Not blessed. Not born.**

  A man-made beast.

  It stood nearly nine feet tall, stitched from dark muscle and plated bone.

  Its head was crowned with asymmetrical horns, and its eyes—mirror-like—reflected nothing but emptiness.

  Sigils burned across its chest like brands. Its breath steamed like acid.

  The scent hit them first—metal, ash, and something like spoiled magic.

  Its roar was wet and fractured—like a chorus of broken voices begging to die.

  Rell stepped forward.

  “Thessia. Stay back.”

  The beast roared again. The ground cracked.

  The final clash was about to begin.