The light of their victory had barely begun to fade.
The Tyrant's body remained motionless for three seconds. Its twisted form hissed, armor cracked, core flickering with unstable Destruction magic. Regnare, chest heaving, watched from one knee—frosted blood dripping from his lips.
Yamal hovered near him, ragged. "Is it... done?"
Rhask had fallen to his knees beside a boulder, coughing blood. Vorr was missing an arm, using his hammer as a crutch. Maelis had collapsed from overcasting her Sight Veil. Every breath from the squad was agony. Every second they remained alive was on borrowed time.
And then it happened.
A heartbeat.
The Tyrant's core—splintered and dying—beat once.
Then twice.
A third time.
With a sickening, elastic crackle, the light reversed, flowing inward like a dying star taking one last breath.
Then—
Regeneration.
