The titan Fenrir stood there, colossal, impossible, its black and golden fur rippling like a sea at dusk. Each breath it took filled the cavern with a deep, resonant echo, a suffocating promise of devastation. Its body wasn't entirely made of flesh, but of shadows and dying light, a twisted fusion of Umbra and Lumen crushed together, an abomination whose very existence defied the laws of the world.
And yet, before that nightmare made real, Brann stood tall. Unyielding. His steel-grey eyes locked onto the beast. There was no fear in his stance, no hesitation, only a resolve as sharp as the edge of his blade. He opposed Fenrir with Fenrir, as if daring the world to decide which of the two names would prove deadlier.
The warrior drew in a slow breath, letting his intention guide every movement.
Fenrir charged with terrifying speed, its gaping maw ready to devour what little light remained. But Brann was already moving.
His sword sliced through the air with a crystalline hiss, silent, yet palpable. A powerful wave, born from the purity of his will, struck the creature with such force that the ground erupted beneath them, casting a cloud of dust and debris sharp as shrapnel.
The first strike had been delivered.
He wasn't aiming to harm flesh, he was cutting the unholy bond, the profane tether between the titan and the Light-Drainer. He sought to sever this aberration, born of chaos and pain.
A furious growl shook the cavern as Fenrir retaliated, leaping with supernatural ferocity. Its monstrous jaws dove toward Brann, ready to rip him apart. But the warrior's body flowed like water, rolling beneath the shadowed fangs, feeling death's icy breath brush across his face.
He rose in one motion, striking again, this time, not only cutting matter, but the very essence of the link between Fenrir and the Light-Drainer.
A scream tore through the air. A stream of golden light burst from the beast's core, the imprisoned Lumen, released by that perfect strike. The radiant torrent surged outward in a wave, briefly illuminating the cavern… only to be pulled into a shield that Brann cast in an instant, absorbing its force. Just as quickly, he dispelled it.
But Brann was not done.
He spun with lethal grace, delivering a third blow, this time aiming to cleave into the very heart of the abomination. Fenrir staggered, howling in agony, its titanic form quivering under the warrior's relentless assault.
"Return to the void that birthed you!" Brann roared, his sword tracing one final arc of searing light.
But before the blade could strike its mark, the ground beneath them gave way, collapsing into a yawning chasm. Brann and Fenrir were swallowed by the depths.
Reacting on instinct, Brann unfurled his Umbra-woven cloak. It spread like wings of shadow, catching the rushing air and slowing his fall. Around him, time itself seemed to blur, distorted by the weight of this final confrontation.
A strange calm settled over him. His thoughts cleared. His doubts and fears dissolved into silence.
Only one thing remained... A single, unwavering intention: 'Survive. Cut. Finish it.'
With a fluid motion, Brann hurled his sword upward with surgical precision.
The blade, still tethered to him by a faint strand of Umbra flowing from his cloak, pierced straight into the monstrous eye embedded in the wall of the chasm.
The abomination convulsed violently, letting out a rasping howl that echoed not just through the air, but through their minds.
The Umbra link held Brann suspended midair, halting his fall in an instant. But before he could pull himself back up, a sudden explosion of light erupted from the depths, violent, uncontrolled. A beam of Lumen shot upward, tearing through his abdomen and severing the shadow-thread.
A crushing silence followed. Brann, cut loose, felt the void claim him, inevitably, unstoppably.
"That bastard..." he gasped, blood staining his lips.
His heart clenched.
"Brann!" Gaël's voice rang out from above, distant, desperate, filled with anguish.
The warrior plunged into the abyss, swallowed by freezing darkness. His Umbra-forged cloak offered little protection against the corrosive void. He knew it was only a matter of time before even that would fail.
In that absolute blackness, as his descent accelerated, a chill ran through him, not just from the cold, but from what waited below. He had no handhold, no escape. Yet even in this moment of despair, a sharp, unshakable truth filled him:
'He would not die without a fight.'
Suddenly, whispers echoed through the void around him, indistinct, but familiar. They stirred long-buried memories. They reignited old madness.
"You think you're different, Brann… but you're just like us."
Cassandre's face surfaced in his mind. It pierced deeper than the fall itself.
"Time to pay for your choices, drinker…"
Brann opened his eyes wide, the freezing air of the abyss coiling around him. This was no longer just a physical fall. It was a descent into the heart of his own darkness.
"So... in the end, I'm going to join my brother."