The mist hadn't cleared before the ground rumbled again.
"Shit," Inigo muttered, reloading quickly.
The obelisk—now split in two—let out a low, hollow hum before both halves shattered into glowing dust. That dust didn't settle. It drifted upwards like sparks from a fire, merging with the black mist that the beast had left behind.
"She's channeling something," Arienne said, her voice tight. "The Lady—she's using the mist to fuel another summon. Or worse."
"Then we kill it before it finishes," Garen growled.
"No," Arienne said, grabbing Inigo's arm. "We stop the ritual. There's a difference."
A low chant echoed from the walls. They weren't words—not in any language any of them recognized—but they felt wrong. Like they were crawling over their skin. Under it. Through their skulls.
Lyra winced and covered her ears. "That sound—it's in my head!"
Inigo scanned the walls. "Where's it coming from?"
