Zoya didn’t hesitate. Her blade, a long, curved length of black durasteel, didn’t point at Vadim, but arced in a blinding silver blur towards the sleeping colossus. She lunged, a focused projectile of lethal intent, her movements fluid and utterly devoid of the slight pause of consideration. The subterranean chamber, reeking of old frost and sulfur, shrank behind the sudden arc of her blade. “Wait, what are you doing?” Borys shrieked, scrambling back, nearly tripping over a loose piece of rebar. Vadim watched, rooted to the stone, bracing for a feint until her trajectory locked onto the colossal horned skull. Her blade aimed for the vulnerable membrane just behind its eye, a spot only a veteran Hunter would know. A cold, analytical part of Vadim’s mind registered the impossible calculation. She wasn’t here for him. Not yet. “If that thing wakes up and breaches containment, Novagrad is gone,” Zoya’s voice echoed, sharper than her blade, as she closed the distance. “Protocol Omega goes city-wide. I will not let that happen.” The wyrm's eye, a slitted obsidian pool, peeled open just as Zoya’s blade connected. A shower of iridescent plates exploded outward, but the durasteel bit deep, drawing thick phosphorescent ichor. The hollow boomed with a roar that struck like a concrete slab. The very air vibrated, rattling Vadim’s teeth. Dust rained from the ceiling, and Borys collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. [WARNING: Rift Dragon, Ancient Wyrm, awakened. Threat Level: Cataclysmic.] The beast jerked its skull sideways, a whip-crack motion that hurled Zoya skittering across the flagstones. She hit a jagged shelf of crystal with a hollow crunch. Before she could drag air into her lungs, the creature drew breath, its ribcage swelling as scales burned orange from an internal furnace. Orange light spilled from its nostrils and the cracks in its armor plates. “Dragos! Mirela! Shield!” Vadim roared, his voice cutting through the ringing in his ears. He wouldn’t risk Novagrad being erased. Not when he still needed the Core Rift. Not when Zoya, for all her hatred, had just created a distraction. Dragos, a blur of skeletal plate and umbral mist, anchored himself between Zoya’s limp form and the beast, driving his runic greatsword deep into the rock. Mirela threw up an inverted shell of black radiance just as the wyrm exhaled. A torrent of raw, superheated plasma erupted from the maw, bathing Dragos and the barrier in liquid fire. Vadim buckled as the feedback tether pulled taut. Blisters erupted along his forearms, cloth charring instantly against his flesh while the shared torment hammered his skull. [SUMMON: Dragos, Death Knight, sustaining critical damage. Damage Redirect: 78%] [SUMMON: Mirela, Corrupted Saintess, sustaining critical damage. Damage Redirect: 82%] He gasped, a raw, tortured sound, falling to one knee. The heat was unbearable, drying his eyes, cracking his lips. He could smell his own burning hair. But the barrier held, though Mirela’s dark light flickered precariously. Zoya, still sprawled, was shielded from the direct blast, but the ambient heat was enough to make the metal of her armor glow. “Oh gods, he’s cooking!” Borys wailed, scrambling backward on all fours. Vadim dragged himself upright, refusing to sever the link. He thrust a hand forward, wrenching calcified spikes from the floor to buttress Mirela’s buckling ward. He pushed more of his limited essence into Dragos, into Mirela, trying to shore up their fading forms. [SUMMON: Dragos, Death Knight, regenerating. Damage Redirect: 91%] [SUMMON: Mirela, Corrupted Saintess, regenerating. Damage Redirect: 93%] The jet of fire choked out, leaving blistering air and scorched ozone. Dragos held his ground as a fractured silhouette, bone fusing back into place beneath slagged armor. Mirela’s ward stabilized into a dull, smoky veil. The beast snorted, sweeping its black pupils across the rubble. Before Vadim could react, an armored tail lashed across the stone. It caught Zoya with the blunt impact of a falling girder. A wet fracture resounded off the rock as her limp frame spun into the far masonry. She slid down, leaving a smear of crimson, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, but there was no movement. [Zoya, Rift Hunter, sustaining fatal injury. Spinal column severed. Life functions critical.] Vadim didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the implications, the irony, or the monumental risk. He just saw the still form of the woman who had sworn to execute him, dying for a cause that temporarily aligned with his own. “Mirela! Heal her! Now!” Mirela, without a flicker of hesitation, unleashed a beam of her corrupted light. It wasn’t a destructive pulse, but a focused, inverted healing beam, a stream of concentrated darkness that flowed into Zoya’s ruined body. The broken bones knitted themselves together with an audible grind. The crimson smear on the wall faded as tissue regenerated. Zoya’s pupils focused, fixing on the frost-cold necrosis stitching her organs together. She stared at Mirela, then at Vadim, her face a mask of utter bewilderment, her entire worldview collapsing around her. Necromancy was *saving* her. The ancient terror lunged forward, snapping its jaws shut around Dragos before the warrior could raise his blade. The impact rattled the bedrock, followed by the screech of crushed steel and splintering marrow. [SUMMON: Dragos, Death Knight, destroyed. Damage Redirect: 0%] Vadim gasped as the tether tore in his mind, phantom agony flashing across his sternum. His primary shield was gone. The wyrm turned its glare upon him. It began to inhale again, deeper this time, its chest swelling to an impossible size, the orange glow intensifying into a blinding white. The air shimmered, turning transparent with the sheer, annihilating heat. This wasn’t just a breath attack. This was an extinction event, aimed squarely at them. He had zero shields left to absorb it.

The Enemy of My Enemy