The storm inside him roared to life, coursing through his veins, coiling around every nerve, threatening to tear him apart if he let it rage unchecked. Godric’s chest rose and fell, electricity leaking from his breath in faint bursts of blue-white sparks. Nine minutes. Nine minutes to tear through an army, save his sister, and face death head-on—because there was no other end to this.

But fear had no place here. It was the blacksmith’s creed: Temper or break.

He slammed his hammer into the ground with a resounding boom, sparks crackling along the floor. In his mind’s eye, he saw it—the ethereal forge, a space only he could envision, suspended in the storm’s fury. Boots of pure lightning formed beneath his focus, each swing of the hammer an echo of his soul. He imagined them glowing, molten with power, fusing to his armor to carry him beyond mortal limits. With each blow, the hammer resonated louder, vibrating in harmony with the storm inside him.

The boots solidified, electric tendrils curling along his legs, locking into place like molten steel. The hum of power surged upward, flooding every fiber of his body with energy, making his limbs ache with potential.

Eight minutes.

“Go,” Solena’s voice was quiet, resolute. Her expression was taut with concern, but she knew—he had to do this alone.

“You know the plan,” Godric said, his voice low and charged with emotion. His gaze locked with Erazon’s, then with Solena’s. “Find her when this is over. I’ll clear the way.” His hand tightened on the haft of his hammer. “And for what it’s worth... I don’t regret the price. I just want it to matter.”

Solena gave a solemn nod, her hand brushing his briefly. “It will.”

Godric exhaled, centering the sacred power inside him. His eyes locked onto the massive gate looming at the far end of the chamber, its intricate carvings marred by creeping shadows. From within its depths, dozens of yellow eyes blinked open—hungry and waiting, eager to flood into the world.

Charged bolt’s wrapped across Godric’s armor, and the rage swelled within him. There was no hesitation. He bolted forward, a streak of unstoppable energy, his warhammer charged with the power of the Nine.

With a single, monumental swing, his hammer crashed into the gate, thunder booming through the cathedral like a divine decree.

The gate shattered into dust, fragments exploding outward as bolts of lightning arced through the debris. The yellow eyes blinked once—then vanished, swallowed by the storm’s wrath.

With no further words, the lightning smith slammed his electrified boots into the ground, kicking off with the force of a thunderclap. The earth beneath him exploded outward, shards of stone flung in every direction as lightning ignited his path.

Rain lashed against Godric’s face as he rocketed into the storm clouds, carried upward by a surge of electric force. The wind shrieked around him, but he barely noticed. His mind stretched across the landscape below like tendrils of lightning, sensing every heartbeat, every flicker of energy. Through the storm-touched currents of his power, the world unfolded before him in stunning clarity—the pulse of the rain, the hum of magic, the flow of life itself.

He could feel her.

In the depths of a cathedral shrouded in shadow, Elizza's essence flickered like a dim spark—trapped, enslaved, and surrounded by malice. Godric clenched his jaw. There you are, Elii.

Electricity crackled through his veins as he kicked off the clouds above, using them as a solid surface. "One last leap,” he whispered. “For my sister.”

He plummeted toward the ground, a streak of lightning tearing across the sky. The storm raged with him, every flash illuminating the jagged rooftop of the cathedral below, its stained glass shattering under the pressure of the tempest. His hammer hummed in his grip, glowing with divine energy, ready to unleash the fury of the heavens.

He crashed through the roof like a comet, shattering beams and glass. Rain cascaded through the gaping hole, drenching the cathedral floor in shimmering puddles. Stone fragments and stained glass rained down in deadly shards, scattering the Order of Crimson below like leaves in a storm. Shadow men recoiled from the violent entry, their forms twisting and flickering in the lightning's glow.

At the far end of the chapel, Wild Wizard gleamed, his skeletal grin wide with mockery. Beside him, Nyxis hovered like a shadow, tendrils of darkness flickering from his form. And at Wild's side was Elizza—her vacant stare fixed on the ground.

Wild Wizard’s scythe pulsed vividly in the storm’s glow as he stepped forward. “You may have the power to slay a few,” he sneered. “But not all. You’ll burn out before you ever reach her.”

Godric’s warhammer crackled in response, the storm surging within him. “Then I’ll die trying, and I’ll take you with me.” His voice was low, dangerous, and brimming with resolve. “Elii, come to me!”

For a brief moment, the storm inside him paused as he waited. Elizza’s lifeless eyes shifted toward him, dull and vacant—just a flicker of recognition, like a tiny light struggling against the darkness.

Her lips parted, as if to say something—but no words came. Instead, a slight twitch ran through her hand, the barest hint of movement toward him. And then, just as quickly, the flicker was gone. The shadowy curse tightened its grip, dragging her spirit back into its abyss. Her gaze dropped to the floor once more, slipping from his grasp like leaves in the wind.

The rejection twisted his heart, a cruel dagger made worse by that fleeting glimpse of her true self. But there was no room for doubt. The cataclysm inside him demanded release. He raised his warhammer high.

The Order of Crimson moved as one—bolts of the elements streaking through the air toward him. Shadow men surged forward, their forms rippling with malevolence, and demon skeletons lunged from the darkness, their glowing bones dripping with ichor.

Godric spun his hammer, lightning arcing outward in a wide circle. The bolts ripped through the first wave of attackers, incinerating shadow men where they stood. A second swing sent shockwaves through the ground, shattering the skeletons into ash.

Nyxis extended his hands, shadow snakes coiling toward Godric, hungry to ensnare him. But Godric leapt, his lightning boots propelling him high into the air. He landed amidst the mages of the Order, his hammer crashing down with a force that cracked the exterior wall beside them.

The storm raged around him, lightning bolts ripping through columns and scattering enemies like leaves in a tempest. A mage hurled a massive ice spear, jagged and spinning, frost trailing in the air as it hurtled toward Godric. With preternatural speed, his hand shot out, catching the frozen weapon mid-flight.

Frost bloomed along his gauntlet, crackling against the lightning-wreathed armor, but the storm inside him surged stronger. Electricity raced across the ice, wrapping it in blinding arcs, cracks spreading as sparks hissed from the clash of elements. With a fierce grin, the warrior spun and hurled the electrified spear back.

The spear tore through the air, streaking like a thunderbolt, lightning dancing across its jagged edges. It collided with the swarm of crimson mages, detonating on impact. Ice shards exploded outward, charged with bolts that ricocheted between the order, scattering them in a brilliant storm of frost and electricity.

“Enough!” Wild Wizard roared, his voice echoing through the cathedral. He slashed the air with his scythe, conjuring a colossal demon from the shadows.

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The beast emerged with a rumbling growl, obsidian-black skin cracked open with glowing veins of molten lava. It towered over everything—twice the size of any mortal beast—its spiraling, jagged horns curling forward like those of a ram. Fire flickered in the depths of its molten sockets, burning with unrelenting malice. Razor-sharp claws, each the length of a greatsword, glistened with infernal magic.

With every step the demon took, the cathedral quaked. Stone cracked beneath its feet, and molten blood dripped from the gaps in its armor-like skin, sizzling as it struck the floor. It exuded a soul-crushing presence, a manifestation of rage and fire.

Godric squared his shoulders, the haft of his warhammer pressing into his palm.

Five minutes.

The beast roared, a sound that shattered the air and vibrated through his bones. It was not just noise—it clawed at the edges of his will, a pressure that could break weaker men. For a moment, the storm within him faltered, but he tightened his grip and forced it back into place.

The demon lunged, claws tearing through the air. Godric twisted beneath the swipe, lightning surging through his legs, propelling him forward. He spun low, dragging his hammer in a wide arc and slamming it into the demon’s chest.

Thunder erupted. Lightning crackled outward from the impact, arcing across the demon’s molten body and scorching everything in its path. The beast staggered, but molten blood hissed and flowed, sealing the cracks in its skin as if the wound had never existed.

His jaw clenched. It heals too fast.

The demon let out a roar, stomping the ground with its massive hooves. Fissures spread like jagged veins, spewing hellfire in a circle around it. The flames surged outward, swallowing columns and melting the stone floor.

Godric dove through the inferno, energy wrapping around him like armor, shielding him from the worst of the heat. His boots ignited with storm energy, sending him hurtling through the air. He twisted mid-leap, bringing his hammer down with the force of a falling star.

The weapon collided with one of the demon’s spiraled horns, shattering it into jagged shards. Lightning shot from the impact, searing the beast’s face and causing it to bellow in fury.

The demon stumbled, boiling blood pouring from the stump of its horn. But before he could savor the victory, the horn began to regenerate—bone, muscle, and skin knitting together in moments.

Its glowing eyes flared. It swung with renewed fury, its claws glowing with infernal energy.

Godric ducked low, narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe, and retaliated with a hammer blow that shattered the beast’s wrist. The severed hand hit the ground with a heavy thud, but even as it lay still, the lava in the wound began to bubble.

To his dismay, the hand twitched—and then crawled back to the demon’s body. The limb fused seamlessly into place, claws flexing as if the injury had never happened.

Godric muttered through clenched teeth, “If it bleeds, I can kill it!”

A new wave of magic surged from the sidelines. Nyxis whispered an incantation, shadowy snakes slithering toward Godric like vipers. They coiled around his legs and arms, tightening with dark intent, pulling him off-balance.

From above, Wild Wizard hovered with a wicked grin, his scythe gleaming. He raised the weapon high, ready to strike.

Godric growled, muscles straining as he fought against the restraints. Electricity surged along his limbs, burning through the tendrils in an explosion of sparks. The shadows recoiled, and in the same breath, Godric swung again, deflecting a beam of dark energy from Nyxis.

“Two of you?” Godric spat, eyes blazing. “You’ll need more than that.”

Nyxis chuckled, his voice as oily as a serpent’s hiss. “You’re already out of time, peasant. Every second you waste belongs to us.”

Four minutes.

The demon roared again, and flames erupted from its mouth like dragonsfire—a blazing torrent aimed straight at him. He raised his hammer, summoning a shield of solidified energy just as the fire struck. The heat was overwhelming, warping the air around him. Stone melted into pools beneath his feet, but the storm inside him held firm.

Nyxis flicked his fingers, summoning a group of grotesque golems from the cracks in the cathedral floor. Their massive forms twisted and grew as they surged toward Godric. Above them, Wild Wizard summoned waves of flying skulls wreathed in pure death, forcing Godric to weave and dodge through the onslaught. “So..it was him. These golems are his vile creations.”

Three minutes.

The storm raged further within his body, demanding release. He let it consume him, lightning arcing across his armored form like a stampede. His armor cracked beneath the pressure, electricity leaking through jagged fissures that spread across his skin. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

He slammed his hammer into the ground with a deafening boom. The earth split open, and from the jagged cracks, the Lightning Crucible erupted—a radiant circle of pure energy that pulsed with deadly intent.

Massive golems disintegrated as they touched the crucible, their forms unraveling into stray bolts. The cathedral trembled beneath the crucible’s fury, fissures of lightning tearing through the demon’s body, burning through sinew and bone.

The demon howled in agony, blood boiling in its veins. It staggered, its massive form writhing under the storm’s relentless assault.

Godric saw his chance. With every ounce of strength left in him, he launched himself forward, lightning crackling from his boots. He brought his hammer down with divine force, smashing it into the demon’s skull.

The cathedral shook as the demon exploded in a storm of lava and shattered bone. For a brief, glorious moment, all was still.

The warrior stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving. Lightning drifted from his breath, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Godric the Demon-slayer, he thought. Maybe that’s how they’ll remember me.

Two minutes.

But the cataclysm inside him was faltering. Cracks spread along his armor, jagged lines glowing with electric light as the power fought to escape. His vision blurred, and exhaustion weighed down his limbs. But the fight wasn’t over.

Elizza was still there.

His glowing eyes locked on Nyxis, fury crackling through his gaze like the torrent of power inside him. Shadow tendrils lashed toward him, coiling with sinister intent, but he batted them aside with a burst of searing lightning. Sparks flew as the dark energy unraveled, sizzling into nothingness.

Nyxis snarled, summoning more black magic to stop him, but Godric surged forward, electricity igniting his boots, propelling him across the fractured cathedral floor. His hammer swung toward the necromancer with deadly precision, every ounce of his indomitable will fueling the strike.

But before the blow could land, Wild Wizard’s scythe cut through the air, descending in a wicked arc.

Godric saw it too late.

The dark blade sliced through his side, severing the storm within him. Agony tore through his body, and the power that had made him invincible—limitless—flickered and died. The electric hum that had thrummed along his veins stuttered, sparks sputtering uselessly before fizzling out.

In that instant, time collapsed, and his mind drifted to her.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the kind that smelled of fallen leaves and promised the first frost. They were sitting together on the edge of an old stone bridge, legs dangling over the water, watching the river swirl beneath them in lazy spirals. Elizza's light blue hair shimmered in the sunlight, her cheeks flushed pink from the cool breeze. She was trying—and failing—to teach him a song she’d picked up from a traveling bard.

Her voice cracked halfway through the chorus, and they burst into laughter, the sound so pure and bright that even the birds seemed to pause to listen. Elizza laughed until tears ran down her cheeks, clutching her sides as if the joy was too much to contain, and in that perfect, fleeting moment, all the burdens of the world seemed to melt away.

He remembered the way she had looked at him then—like nothing could touch them. Not sorrow. Not fate. Not the future. Just two siblings caught in a single moment of pure, untainted joy.

Her laughter lingered in his mind, warm and bright, a beacon against the darkness closing in. That memory wrapped around him like a soft, well-worn cloak, chasing away the cold, reminding him that even in a world of shadows, there had once been light.

For that memory alone, it had all been worth it.

The force of the scythe’s blow sent him crashing to the ground, his hammer slipping from his grasp with a hollow, echoing clang.

One minute to live.

He struggled to rise, muscles screaming in protest, but his limbs refused to obey. The power inside him was gone, leaving behind only the crushing weight of exhaustion, heavier than any blow he had ever endured.

The cathedral doors exploded inward, a burst of crimson and gold flooding the shattered room as Erazon and Solena charged in, their shields blazing. Magic and fire charged from their hands, illuminating the ruined battlefield in a defiant glow.

But it was too late.

Godric turned his gaze toward them, his breath shallow, ragged. His warhammer lay out of reach, lifeless. A single tear shimmered in his eye, catching the fleeting light as it trailed down his dirt-streaked face.

He reached out, hand trembling, toward Elizza—one final, desperate gesture. His fingers stretched toward her, as if, even now, he could pull her back to him.

For a heartbeat, something shifted.

Elizza’s hand twitched at her side, the barest notion of recognition—a memory stirring beneath the curse. Her blue eyes faltered, just for an instant, as if she remembered the brother who had fought so hard to save her. A spark of the girl she had once been—a spark of hope—glimmered and was gone.

She looked away.

The rejection shattered him.

And then Wild’s scythe descended one last time.

The blade sank deep into Godric’s heart, carving through what little strength he had left. His consciousness flickered weakly—one final, stuttering pulse—before vanishing.

Pain radiated through him, a dull, heavy ache, but it no longer mattered.

Godric crumpled to the ground, the world growing dim around him. His fingers twitched against the cold stone, reaching for a hand that would never meet his.

And then, he died.