The chaos was no longer just a battle; it was an apocalypse.
The ceiling of the vault didn’t just fall—it vanished as the Blight-Wing surged upward like a massive column of smoke. Silas and I were caught in the updraft, pulled along by the sheer vacuum of the creature’s power.
We burst through the surface of the mountain, exploding out of the ruins of the packhouse.
The world outside was a nightmare. The Eclipse was at its peak. The sky was a bruised, sickly purple, and the "Black Sun" hung in the air like a dead eye. Below us, the five thousand wolves of the Western Packs were screaming. They weren't screaming in war-cries anymore; they were screaming in terror.
The Blight-Wing didn't wait. It expanded its shadow-wings, which were miles wide, and let out a roar that shattered every wi
