But Kyrion acted first. "Stand back," he said, voice rough and breathless. I caught a glimpse of the determination in his gaze—steady, unyielding. He raised his hand, shadows beginning to writhe around his forearm like living snakes. "If we don't get through this door, we're done for," he added quietly, almost to himself.
A coil of blackness erupted from his palm, slamming into the glowing symbols etched into the stone. Instantly, a backlash of pure magical force exploded, striking Kyrion like a physical blow. He let out a pained gasp, doubling over as arcs of shimmering light slashed at him. But the door shuddered under his necromantic assault, the wards sputtering in protest.
I could see the lines of script flickering on the surface, as if they were being forcibly rewritten. The fortress let out a low moan of protest, and another chunk of the corridor behind us gave way with a thunderous crash, shaking the floor so violently that I almost lost my footing.
