Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Grak the Axe no longer resembled a man. In the center of the Hall of Atlanteans stood an element, clothed in grey steel and basalt. His inner essence, brought to critical density, began to burst forth in the form of heavy white mist that spread across the floor, freezing the obsidian slabs. The Commander of the Order of Order took a deep breath, and the sound of that breath was like the noise of an approaching avalanche.
Baron Kaelen, feeling his own space compress under the northerner's onslaught, tried to deliver a preemptive strike. He understood that if Grak launched a full-scale offensive, his "Reflection Facets" would simply shatter.
"Too late for dancing, Baron!" Grak roared.
He took a step forward, and under his boot, obsidian didn't just crack—it exploded, turning to dust. The Commander raised his axe, and the blade of the weapon filled with such fierce light it became painful to look at.
"Cleaving Strike: Bane of Walls!" Grak shouted.
This was not just a swing. Grak brought down a series of blows upon Kaelen, each capable of breaching a citadel's gate. The axe moved in his hands with incredible speed, generating shockwaves that cut through the air. Kaelen darted about, trying to redirect the inertia with his mirror shields, but the density of the attacks was too high. One by one, the golden hexagons burst with a melodic ring, unable to contain the sheer physical power of the northern master.
Kaelen gasped for breath. His Vessel burned with overexertion, and his arms were numb from endless parries. When Grak's axe slammed into his defense again, the Baron was simply slammed into the floor. He barely managed to roll aside as the axe blade descended on the spot where he had just been lying, leaving a deep crater in the obsidian.
"Is this all the Rakesh Dynasty's Heralds are capable of?" Grak loomed over his opponent, his figure blocking the light of the artificial constellations. "Your gold turned out to be too soft for northern steel."
Realizing the next blow would be his last, Baron Kaelen took an extreme measure. He drove his gilded sword into the floor before him and poured all the remnants of his inner essence into a single point.
"Absolute Aegis!" Kaelen shouted, his voice cracking into a rasp.
A perfect sphere of dazzling golden light formed around the Baron. Inside this cocoon, time and space seemed to freeze. It was the highest form of defense available to Kaelen—an unshakeable barrier for which he paid with almost his entire reserve.
Grak the Axe did not stop. He raised his axe for the final, devastating blow, pouring all his will and the power of his Spirit into it. The axe blade touched the golden sphere, and a sound that made even the Atlantean statues tremble resonated through the Central Node. It was the screech of two absolute wills colliding in a mortal duel.
Grak dominated. His axe slowly, inch by inch, began to sink into the golden radiance of the "Absolute Aegis." Kaelen, kneeling inside the cocoon, saw the face of the Order Commander contorted in a grimace of ultimate effort. Another second, and the Baron's defense would shatter, leaving him defenseless before northern wrath.
"The end..." Grak exhaled, ready to deliver the decisive push.
But at that moment, the world around them ceased to exist.
From the very center of the Central Node, a pillar of dazzling, unearthly light erupted. The flash was so powerful that shadows vanished instantly, and all the sounds of battle were swallowed by a grand, solemn hum. The white radiance flooded the hall, engulfing Kaelen's golden sphere, Grak's raised axe, and the Heralds themselves.
Kaedan, Iskon, Liana, Elwin—all were momentarily blinded, feeling the space around them turn inside out under the influence of a supreme power. The battle broke off at its highest note, leaving the fate of the combatants in the grip of this all-consuming radiance.