Garduck's blade plunged deeper into Bahamut's scales, the dragon's roar tearing across the sky like a shockwave. White-hot light pulsed from the wound, igniting the air in blinding bursts.
Ifrit's laughter rang out—sharp, triumphant—as he hurled another infernal blaze into the fissure. The fire clashed against radiant energy, sparks showering down like divine rain, while above them, arrows screamed, spells cracked through the sky, and the airships roared with cannon fire. Each impact chipped away at Bahamut's once-untouchable majesty.
But while the skies burned, a different kind of reckoning stirred below.
Maxwell stepped through the veil of the portal, the shimmer behind him collapsing like dying glass. His golden eyes glowed, emotionless and calculating, as twin wings of tempered light folded behind his back. The battlefield was chaos—shrieking metal, twanging bows, and demon howls—but his gaze ignored it all. He searched for one face. One name.
Adam.
