The Twisted Warden stepped from the mist, dragging his blade along the ground.
Sparks flew where corrupted steel kissed stone.
I tightened my grip on the relic-sword.
My heart pounded.
Not in fear — but in sorrow.
Whoever he had been, once, he was Warden.
Family.
Brotherhood forged in oath and sacrifice.
Now, he was little more than a puppet of the Herald's will.
The mist recoiled from him, the ground blackening under his boots.
Finn muttered a curse under his breath and took aim with his crossbow, but I raised a hand.
"No," I said.
"This one is mine."
Finn hesitated, then nodded grimly.
The Twisted Warden tilted his head, as if studying me.
His voice slithered from beneath his cracked helm.
"Still clinging to your vows, Caelan?"
"Still dreaming of a world that forgot you?"
I said nothing.
Words were pointless now.
I stepped forward, sword low, stance ready.
He howled — a sound of rage and grief — and charged.
The impact shook the air.
He moved like a storm — heavy, brutal, relentless.
Each swing of his corrupted blade sent shockwaves through the ground, fracturing stone and sending debris flying.
I barely dodged the first blow, feeling the wind of it tear past my face.
The second came faster.
I parried, and the clash of our blades rang out like a thunderclap.
Pain lanced through my arm from the sheer force.
I gritted my teeth and pushed back.
He struck again.
And again.
Relentless.
Merciless.
Each clash drove me back, step by step, toward the broken Pillar.
Sparks and black flame rained around us.
I adjusted my stance, slipping into the old forms drilled into me at the Warden sanctums.
Breathe.
Move.
Flow.
He roared, black fire erupting from his body in writhing tendrils.
I ducked low, rolling beneath a sweeping strike that would have cleaved me in half.
Came up inside his guard.
Drove the relic-sword toward his chest.
But he twisted impossibly fast, catching the blade in one gauntleted hand.
Black veins pulsed along his arm, deflecting the relic's glow.
His helm split slightly, revealing a glimpse of ruined flesh and a single, glaring eye.
"Too slow," he hissed.
He slammed a fist into my chest.
Armor cracked.
The impact hurled me backward into a pile of shattered stone.
Pain exploded through my ribs.
Finn shouted something — maybe my name — but I barely heard him.
The Twisted Warden stalked forward, blade dragging, mist curling hungrily around his feet.
"You should have joined us, Caelan," he said.
"You should have knelt."
I forced myself up, coughing blood.
The relic-sword hummed in my hand, resonating with the dying Pillar behind me.
And suddenly, I felt it —
a thin strand of power, like a lifeline cast from the crumbling Pillar into my soul.
Desperate.
Fading.
But still alive.
I seized it.
Magic surged into me.
Painful.
Unstable.
But it was enough.
The Twisted Warden lunged —
I sidestepped, letting his blade crash into the ground.
Stone exploded.
I slashed across his side.
The relic-sword tore through his corrupted armor, spraying black ichor.
He staggered, roaring in fury.
I pressed the attack.
Strike.
Parry.
Strike again.
Not strength.
Not rage.
Precision.
Memory.
Honor.
The old Warden battle forms came alive in my muscles, flowing like river currents through ancient stone.
Each movement a prayer.
Each blow a promise.
We danced in the ruins, two broken echoes of a fallen age.
And slowly — agonizingly — I began to turn the tide.
The Twisted Warden's blows grew wilder, less coordinated.
Corruption leaked faster from his wounds, sizzling where it touched the ground.
I could see it now — the fractures running through him, the instability of his twisted form.
He was not infinite.
He was dying.
He just didn't know it yet.
I feinted a high slash — he raised his blade to block —
And I stepped inside.
Driving the relic-sword through the broken seams of his armor.
Straight into his heart.
He froze.
For a long, terrible moment, we stood locked together.
Then his blade clattered from his fingers.
He reached up, clawing weakly at my shoulder.
And in that dying gasp, I heard his real voice —
the voice of the man he had once been.
"Forgive me..." he rasped.
Then he fell.
The mist swallowed him, and he was gone.
Only silence remained.
I dropped to one knee, gasping.
Finn rushed over, glancing around nervously.
"Is it over?" he asked.
I nodded numbly.
He helped me to my feet.
Together, we approached the wounded Pillar.
Now that the seed of corruption had lost its guardian, it lay exposed — a writhing black mass at the Pillar's core.
Without hesitation, I drove the relic-sword deep into the seed.
There was a shriek — not from any throat, but from the very air itself.
The Pillar shuddered violently.
Then the corruption shattered into dust, and the Pillar flared with new light.
Pure.
Untainted.
The mist recoiled from the light, pulling back from the basin.
For the first time in what felt like days, I saw clear sky —
a ragged patch of blue through the poison clouds.
It was beautiful.
It was hope.
I staggered back, exhausted.
Finn clapped me on the shoulder.
"Two Pillars down," he said.
"Only... what? Nine hundred ninety-eight to go?"
I managed a weak laugh.
The road ahead was endless.
But for now, we had won a battle.
And I was still standing.
That would have to be enough.
For today.