Barak advanced, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground, his axe still emitting violet flames. With each step, the earth trembled as if an earthquake was about to swallow everything around them. Strax, kneeling on the battlefield, looked out at the devastation. His body was in pieces, his energy nearly spent. But in his chest, a flame still burned brightly—the flame of rage, the desperate need to save Kryssia.
Strax's eyes, still consumed by the blue flames of his power, blazed even more intensely. He couldn't fall now. Not now. Not while Kryssia was in danger, while his body was broken and weak in the enemy's grasp. She needed him.
"No... not now...!" Strax muttered to himself, the words coming out with difficulty. His lungs burned, and blood still flowed from his body, but there was something inside him that refused to be extinguished. His rage... his will... it was stronger than the pain. Much stronger.
