Eccar flew with urgency, his wings cutting through the air like blades. His eyes stayed locked on the ruined temple below where the green and black aura of Magic was rising like a fog of disease, leaking into the sky and stretching out in search of a world to consume.
It was getting worse. The god pressing harder with each moment. The others were safe for now but with no one left inside to resist, nothing would stop whatever was on the other side from crossing.
"We're out of time," Eccar growled, flying faster.
Not far ahead, through the shattered trees and crumbling stone paths of the jungle outskirts he saw Erend who were still locked in a fierce battle with the eldest cultist.
The man moved like a seasoned Mage and fighter. Weaving and slashing with blades made of corrupted light and vines and earth, his body radiating Magic.
But Erend wasn't fighting to kill. His movements were sharp and precise but restrained. He was holding back.
