The air was cracked and broken, thick with the scent of ozone and burning metal.
The ground still trembled from the aftermath of the cube's activation.
Behind them, the clone of Elius remained—trapped within the shimmering geometric prism of light, its five swords orbiting slower now, still slashing uselessly against the arcane containment. But none of them looked back.
Zhark, shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths, spat a glob of blood to the side and nodded toward the path ahead—the spiraling corridor that led directly into the core of the dungeon, the sealed zone they had been fighting to access.
"Let's go," he muttered, his voice sharp with pain but firmer now, resolute.
Fraven hesitated only for a heartbeat, his violet eyes narrowing behind blood-smeared lenses as he turned toward the sealed gate. "You sure we can leave that thing behind?" he asked quietly. "The clone?"
