Chapter 68: When Titans Bleed Skyfire
The first true clash came not in silence—but in fury.
Antares descended like an eclipse made flesh, his wings blotting out the sun, his roar splitting the battlefield as if the world itself feared his wrath. Flame poured from his maw—not mere fire, but skyfire, ancient and divine, capable of reducing even enchanted stone to glowing ash.
Jean met it.
With her blade of consecrated light and Whitney at her side, she surged through the inferno, the Light of Celeste shielding her like a second skin. Each heartbeat was a miracle; each breath, a defiance of death.
Around her, the Emissaries joined the fray.
Seraphine Durnstahl, riding the current of flame, thrust both her sabers forward. Twin arcs of molten fire screamed across the battlefield and crashed against Antares' flank—he roared, not in pain, but in recognition.
Ilyana Veyr, hovering atop a chariot of glacial wind, lifted her arms. A colossal spear of crystallized frost took shape, hurled with a flick of her wrist. It struck the underside of Antares' wing, freezing a hundred feet of membrane in a blink—then cracked as the dragon flexed, splinters falling like glass rain.
Lightning. Fire. Ice. Shadows.
Karen, astride Raigen, became a cyclone of tempest and fury, her stormlances casting bolts that struck with the wrath of a god's scream. The sky was her realm—and she ruled it beside Jean.
But still, the tide was not theirs.
Antares, even wounded, was no beast to be slain quickly.
He turned his wrath toward the ground—his tail shattered mountains, his claws rent armies apart. Legions fell beneath the sweep of his fire, and dragons—lesser but still monstrous—emerged from burning chasms to strike the flanks of the united forces.
In the east, the Iron Empire's Crimson Legion fought under their Empress's banner. Seraphine's fire danced among them, fueling morale, even as Antares' spawn pushed them back.
In the west, the Magistery's Sages unleashed sorceries from atop floating citadels. Erin Magus stood at their helm, her hands weaving spells older than kingdoms, her voice never faltering.
> "The world has bled before," she muttered. "But this time… we cut back."
In the north, the Luther Clan Envoy Knights formed a spearhead, led by Silvia, Adam, and Raven, each a storm of steel. Silvia's strikes fell like meteors, Adam's like quakes. Raven danced in and out of Antares' reach, her black hair trailing behind her like a shadow born of vengeance.
And in the south, Vaelros the Hollow released the full extent of the Relic's power.
The broken egg cracked further. From it spilled wings of nightmare, forming a second shadow-dragon—smaller, unstable, but real. Vaelros whispered words that bent reality, and the two colossal titans met: Antares and the Abyssal Twin.
The sky bled black and gold.
Jean, amidst the chaos, locked eyes with her comrades.
They had one chance.
They must break Antares' heartstone—his core of flame—before the world burned.
She raised her blade high. Light surged in every direction.
> "Now!" she cried, voice echoing across nations. "Strike together! For the world!"
And the Emissaries answered.
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