The fortress trembled under the weight of the summoned titan’s power. Doramm stood at the center of the chaos, a towering figure of death and retribution. His armor was a masterpiece of blackened steel, each plate jagged and cruel, radiating an aura of despair. Faint, spectral runes shimmered across the surface, glowing faintly with a pale, sickly green light.
His helm was monstrous, shaped like the skull of some great beast, with two wicked horns curling upward. Shadows spilled from the empty eye sockets, an endless abyss that seemed to pierce the soul of anyone who dared to look.
In his hands, Doramm wielded a colossal greatsword, nearly the height of a man. The blade’s surface was jagged and uneven, as though forged in hatred itself. Eerie, ghostly flames licked along its edges, their light casting an unnatural glow across the battlefield.
Around him, the air was heavy with the stench of decay. The ground where Doramm stepped blackened and cracked, as if life itself recoiled in his presence.
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The Blackbrand soldiers tried to rally, shouting orders and forming defensive lines, but Doramm moved through them like a reaper through a field of wheat. His sword cleaved through shields and armor as if they were paper, each swing sending shockwaves that toppled barricades and shattered walls.
One soldier charged at him with a battle cry, his enchanted spear glowing bright. Doramm turned his gaze to him, and the soldier froze mid-stride, his weapon falling from trembling hands. With a single swing of his sword, Doramm ended him, the blade cutting through both man and stone in one fluid motion.
“Is this all you can muster?” Doramm’s voice boomed, deep and resonant, carrying across the battlefield. “Your strength is pitiful. Your resolve, hollow.”
A volley of arrows rained down, enchanted to pierce even the strongest defenses. Doramm raised his free hand, and a barrier of writhing shadows erupted around him, swallowing the arrows mid-flight.
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While Doramm unleashed his devastation, Emmet and his group moved through the fortress with surgical precision.
“Stick to the plan!” Emmet shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. His serpent slithered ahead, its fangs flashing as it incapacitated fleeing guards.
Tabitha followed close behind, her staff blazing with arcane light. She unleashed bolts of fire and streams of ice, clearing the way and destroying any Blackbrand reinforcements that tried to regroup.
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Lira, perched on a high vantage point, picked off enemies with her deadly precision, each arrow finding its mark in throats and hearts.
They moved room to room, breaking open cells and freeing prisoners. Men, women, and children stumbled out, their faces pale with fear and confusion.
“Move quickly!” Emmet urged, guiding them toward the fortress’s outer gates. “Doramm is buying us time.”
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Doramm stood in the courtyard now, surrounded by the remnants of the Blackbrand forces. Their once-formidable army was reduced to scattered, desperate fighters.
A mage stepped forward, her hands crackling with lightning. She screamed an incantation, and a massive bolt arced toward Doramm.
He didn’t flinch.
The bolt struck his armor, the energy crackling harmlessly over its surface. Doramm raised his greatsword, and with an upward swing, he unleashed a wave of spectral energy that consumed the mage and the soldiers behind her. Their screams were brief, silenced as their bodies disintegrated into ash.
The commander of the Blackbrands, a hulking man clad in gilded armor, charged at Doramm with a massive warhammer glowing with holy light.
“You think your darkness will triumph?” the commander bellowed. “I’ll end you here!”
Doramm tilted his head, almost amused. “You cannot end what has no end.”
The commander’s hammer came down with a deafening crash, the force shaking the ground. Doramm blocked it effortlessly, his greatsword absorbing the impact. With a swift, brutal counterattack, he drove the greatsword through the commander’s chest, lifting him off the ground.
“For your sins, there is no salvation,” Doramm intoned, his voice like a death knell.
The commander’s body erupted into ash, his armor clattering to the ground.
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By the time Emmet and his group emerged from the fortress with the last of the prisoners, the Blackbrands were no more.
Doramm stood alone in the courtyard, the remnants of his destruction surrounding him. Broken weapons and shattered bodies littered the ground, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and ash.
As Emmet approached, Doramm turned to him, his massive form towering over the human. Despite his imposing presence, his voice was calm.
“It is done,” Doramm said. “Your enemies have been annihilated.”
Emmet looked around, his expression grim. “Good. But this isn’t over.”
Tabitha stepped beside him, her face pale. “The Blackbrands were just the beginning. We’ll need every ounce of strength for what’s to come.”
Emmet nodded, his resolve hardening. “Then let’s make sure we’re ready. This world won’t save itself.”
Doramm bowed his head slightly. “As you command, Master.”
And with the prisoners safe and the Blackbrand stronghold reduced to ruin, Emmet and his group prepared for the battles yet to come.