The final battle was upon them.
Jason walked through the valley of death—grey soil cracking beneath his boots, the twisted trees of the Marrow bowing as he passed. The wind howled around him, carrying the scent of decay and ancient blood. He did not slow, he did not falter.
In a few minutes, he was right where he wanted to be.
Maldred's domain stretched before him—a wasteland of broken pillars and shattered stone, the aftermath of wars fought centuries ago. And there, at the center of it all, sat the giant on his throne of bone and metal.
Maldred.
He did not look threatened. His eyes were calm, almost bored, as he watched Jason approach. His massive frame filled the throne, scars glowing faintly red across his iron-grey skin. He did not rise. He did not prepare for battle for the being before him couldn't cause him such distress.
He simply waited.
Jason's eyes scanned the environment. He was looking for something—someone. And then he saw it.
