The world was coming undone. The deep, structural moan of the dying god became a shriek of tearing reality. The floor of the spire heaved, throwing them to their knees. Above, the blood red sky was fracturing, revealing jagged tears of howling void beyond. Chunks of the black spire, each the size of a Saxon longhouse, calved from the ceiling and smashed around them, pulverizing the ground into clouds of choking, dark dust.
"Run!" Marcus roared, the command ripped from his lungs. He hauled Bran to his feet, the Druid stumbling, his body a conduit for spent and corrupted power. Morganna, clutching the now inert sword, led the desperate charge back toward the portal, her face a mask of grim determination.
The path was no longer a path. It was an obstacle course through an apocalypse. The gr
