A guttural roar tore from Lorghar's throat, but no sound escaped. Only a raw, burning sensation. His knees buckled. The world spun, a sickening blur of crimson and ash. The portal, a gaping maw of cosmic horror moments before, snapped shut. It vanished, leaving a shimmering ripple in the air that quickly faded to nothingness. The Void Hand, the Blight creatures, all gone. Just like that. He crumpled. His body hit the scorched earth with a dull thud, breath seizing in his lungs. Every muscle screamed, every nerve ending flared. His mind, usually a fortress of cold calculation, felt like a broken pane of glass, shattered and scattered. Darkness threatened to consume him. He fought it, clawing at the edges of unconsciousness. He had to see. Had to know. His eyes, heavy and gritty, scraped open. The devastation was absolute. Not a single structure remained whole. Twisted steel and splintered stone jutted from the ground like broken teeth. Smoke choked the air, thick and acrid. It stung his eyes, blurring the outlines of the horror around him. Bodies lay scattered, still and lifeless. His guards. Men who had stood by him, fought for him. Sacrificed everything. Pain lanced through his chest, sharper than any wound. Not physical. Something deeper. He had pushed them. Demanded their loyalty. Promised them a better world. And this was their reward. Movement. A gasp. Seraphina. She lay sprawled near a shattered pillar, her silver armor dented, streaked with grime and blood. Her arm bent at an unnatural angle, a crimson stain spreading across her side. Her eyes were closed, her face pale. A chilling terror gripped Lorghar.

Chapter 35: The King's Price