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I fight with every ounce of magic I have left, illusions fracturing their net. But they reinforce the threads, scarlet arcs sizzling across my arms. My staff lies out of reach.I can’t fail now.Across the broken stones, I see Vaelin’s eyes flaring with gargoyle energy, lips peeling back in a half-snarling expression. But Bladrik’s grip tightens, claws drawing blood. Any moment now, I fear he’ll crush Vaelin’s throat.

A wave of fury surges through me.I refuse to lose him.The Red Purnas’ illusions sear my mind, but I latch onto a deeper reservoir of magic—space-time. My heart drums.One last push.Closing my eyes, I shape a swirling distortion around my own body, forcing time to warp. The Red Purnas cry out as the net unravels in slow motion, illusions bending under my paradoxical wave. My entire being throbs with pain, but I break free, stumbling forward with a gasp.

Bladrik roars again, lifting Vaelin higher, as though to slam him into the earth. “Submit!” the Gargoyle Warlord bellows.

“No!” I scream, illusions igniting around my staff as I yank it from the ground. Summoning a raw transformation spell, I unleash it at Bladrik’s outstretched arm. The stone-like flesh of his forearm stiffens. He snarls, momentarily immobilized. Vaelin drops from his grip, coughing and wheezing.

“Vaelin!” I dash forward, illusions coiling protectively around us both. He staggers, trying to regain his footing. Bladrik wrestles against the partial petrification on his arm, cracks spiderwebbing as he tears free. Our illusions can’t hold him forever. The Red Purnas close in again, chanting. Grit fills my mouth.We have to retreat or…

Suddenly, a horn blares from across the plateau. My heart leaps—reinforcements? Sure enough, a swarm of allied purnas led by the Matriarch rush into the clearing, illusions blazing. Olyssia flanks them, hurling arcs of lightning that slash into the Red Purnas. The Overlord’s forces, scattered by orcish and human strikes, struggle to regroup. Gargoyles, momentarily distracted, pivot to face the new threat.

I grab Vaelin’s arm, illusions swirling around us both to hide our retreat. He’s breathing hard, battered but conscious. I half-drag him behind a half-collapsed obelisk. Another gargoyle leaps overhead, snarling. Our illusions confuse it long enough for a pair of purnas to strike it down with combined elemental force.

We slump behind the obelisk, hearts hammering. My eyes dart around, seeing the scale of the chaos: gargoyles rampage, Red Purnas fling illusions that collide with our wards in explosive bursts of color. The Overlord’s banner still waves near the far edge, suggesting he’s directing his soldiers. All across the ancient battlefield, magic churns the air, sparks of illusions and elemental lightning colliding in kaleidoscopic bursts. Fallen bodies litter the stones—both witch and gargoyle, human and dark elf. My stomach churns with the horror of it.

Vaelin coughs, spitting blood, but a flicker of grim resolve lights his gaze. “We can’t keep fighting like this,” he rasps. “The gargoyles… unstoppable.”

I clutch his hand, illusions still swirling around my staff. “There’s one chance,” I whisper, voice trembling.The final sealing spell.The Matriarch and I have dreaded this. If the gargoyle Warlord or his army can be forced to a single focal point, I could attempt the ritual that once sealed them away. But it might cost me everything.

Before Vaelin can protest, a fresh roar shakes the plateau. Bladrik, enraged, tears through illusions and wards, heading directly for the Matriarch’s position. My eyes widen. “He’s going after her. If she falls…”We lose the synergy needed to cast the final spell.

Vaelin staggers upright, grabbing a nearby fallen sword—his original blade lost in the melee. “I’ll hold him off again. Go to the Matriarch. Prepare that sealing ritual or whatever you must.”

My heart wrenches. “Vaelin, you’re injured?—”

A fierce light burns in his eyes. “And you’re the only one who can seal them. If we let Bladrik kill the Matriarch, you’ll have no circle strong enough to cast the final spell. Stop worrying about me.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Don’t you dare die.”

He attempts a crooked grin, though pain etches his features. “I’ll do my best.” Then he limps away, illusions flickering around him just enough to shield his approach toward Bladrik’s rampage.

I force back a sob, turning to the east where I see the Matriarch battling a cluster of Red Purnas. With a surge of illusions, I weave through the chaos, slipping past gargoyles locked in mortal struggle with orc warriors. The Overlord’s soldiers retreat from a wedge of purnas hurling elemental blasts. The entire battlefield crackles with magic so thick it tastes like metal on my tongue.

Gritting my teeth, I race to the Matriarch’s side, illusions whirling around me like a protective storm. She senses my approach, staff raised high. “Elira,” she gasps between spells. “Bladrik is unstoppable. If we can lure him and enough gargoyles to the ancient runes?—”

“I know,” I pant. “We must cast the sealing ritual. Where do we form the circle?”

She nods toward a broken ring of stone pillars at the center, ringed by half-buried runes. “The old summoning circle. Our ancestors used it in the final battle centuries ago. We can reawaken the wards if we pool our magic.”

I nod, chest tight. “Then let’s gather those who remain strong enough to join the circle. I’ll handle the focal incantation.”

Her eyes glisten with pride and sorrow. “Yes. Go. I’ll rally them.”

I spin away, illusions fluttering. My mind blazes with the half-learned verses from ancient texts, the warnings about life force and synergy required to seal an entire army of gargoyles.There might be a heavy cost.But there’s no alternative.

With the Matriarch, Olyssia, and a handful of elders, we carve a path through the battlefield, illusions and wards clearing enough space near those ancient pillars. Overhead, lightning forks again, thunder shaking the stones. Gargoyles bellow, some wounded, others more frenzied than ever. The Overlord’s banner flickers behind the lines; I glimpse him at a distance, masked by illusions, orchestrating Red Purna spells. My blood boils, but I tamp down the rage.Focus on the sealing.

We form a ragged circle around the runic pillars. Olyssia stands at my right, flame crackling in her palms. Quelina and Yvara hold positions across from me, chanting a protective ward. The Matriarch stabs her staff into the ground, arcane light radiating from it like threads of silver. We chant as one, weaving a sphere of illusions and elemental energy that aligns with the faint runes etched in the stones. The ground throbs with old magic—an echo of the first sealing.Just like the texts described.

My heart races.We need Bladrik and his gargoyles in the circle.But how? That’s when Vaelin’s roar slices through the storm of battle. I look up, breath catching. He’s engaged in a brutal clash with Bladrik, drawing the warlord closer to us. Each swing of Vaelin’s blade sparks against the gargoyle’s stony hide. Bladrik counters with fearsome claws. Their conflict rips through illusions and wards alike.

Rallied by their warlord, more gargoyles converge, lunging at Vaelin or the circle. Our allied purnas intercept, illusions tangling them, orc warriors hacking at their flanks. Slowly, inexorably, Bladrik and his kin press nearer to the ring of pillars. My illusions swirl in a frantic dance, urging them on by creating illusions of vulnerable purnas within the circle. They fall for it, lusting for an easy kill.Come closer.

At last, Bladrik steps into the ring, tail lashing. Vaelin staggers after him, battered and bleeding, but unwavering. My illusions flicker dangerously, nearly spent. The Matriarch meets my gaze. “Now,” she hisses.

We chant in unison, forging a new wave of illusions combined with elemental might. The runes on the pillars blaze to life, arcs of old wards bridging from stone to stone. A powerful hum reverberates through the plateau. Gargoyles roar in alarm as the ring’s interior warps with potent magic.

Bladrik bellows, realizing too late he’s stumbled into a trap. “No!” His claws tear at the runic lines forming in midair, but they hold—for now. More gargoyles try to drag him out, but illusions form shifting walls, blocking their retreat. Vaelin slips free of the ring just in time, collapsing on the outside.