Vayro stood over Vel'Tharion, blade steady, eyes locked on the barely-breathing corpse of a man who had once laughed while torturing him. One strike — just one — and it would be done.
But then the ground trembled.
Stone cracked. A hum began beneath his boots, low and deep, like something ancient waking from slumber. He looked up.
The castle wasn't there before. Now it was.
Vayro squinted. "The hell…"
But he didn't stop. His boot stepped forward, blade ready to finish what he started.
Then the wall hit.
A slab of castle stone dropped from the sky like a guillotine, slamming into the ground inches from Tharion's head.
Vayro swore and darted left, pivoting on instinct. Another wall came down. Then another. Like chess pieces from hell, surrounding the unconscious Purgatorist in a cage of rising stone.
"Persistent bastard," Vayro muttered, picking up speed. His body blurred, moved — right, left, twist, evade — vaulting past falling debris.
