The battle raged violently in the underground chamber, shaking the stone walls with each blow exchanged. Dust trickled from the ceiling, and the ground trembled beneath the fighters' feet. Though the space was slightly wider than a standard hall and appeared to have protective wards carved into its walls, it was still barely holding against the pressure of the fight.
Nyros allowed himself a brief moment of relief. 'At least the structure is reinforced. No one above ground should notice… yet.'
But that moment of calm didn't last. They were still at a disadvantage—only three of them, while the cult had four. Even worse, one of them had already begun channeling something sinister during the ritual Nyros had interrupted.
In the corner of his vision, he could see Malrik—madman and warrior—laughing manically as he tore through two of their enemies on his own, his white hair whipping wildly with each movement. His laughter echoed through the chamber like a war drum, primal and untamed.
