The battlefield is a symphony of chaos—metal clashing, voices raised in triumph and despair, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke.

Lucanis moves like a shadow through the fray, his blade a whisper of death that silences all it touches. He turns, breath sharp, eyes cutting through the carnage until they find you.

You move with the fury of a storm—each motion a seamless blend of grace and ferocity. The sight of your foe crumbling beneath the final arc of your blade softens his gaze, a swell of pride warming his expression. However, the moment is short-lived as his eyes catch something beyond you.

A projectile hurtling toward your unprotected back.

The shout dies in his throat, as his body moves before thought can take root.

You feel the rush of air and the impact of arms locking tight around your torso. The world tilts, shadows consuming your vision as a shield of dark, purple threaded wings envelops you.

You look up and freeze. Lucanis’ face is achingly familiar, but his expression is twisted into something sharper, while an inferno of violet fills his eyes as they look down upon you.