Behind him, one of the Ember Claw soldiers gasps. "That's… that thing's its aura is stronger than commander Lathar."
Another said under their breath. "Commander—"
Alix steps forward once. His voice cuts through the tension.
"Stay down."
The beast lets out a guttural roar. Trees bend. Some snap clean. Mana crackles like a stormcloud around its frame.
Alix exhales softly. His sword is still at his side, point down.
He doesn't draw it fully this time.
He doesn't need to.
Mana gathers at his fingertips—dark and radiant, hot and cold, two opposing forces spiraling together in tight orbit.
He murmurs, barely audible.
"[Crimson Nova]…"
His other hand rises, palm facing forward. Frost clings to his wrist, spreading upward in jagged patterns.
"…[Frost Rend]."
The air goes still.
Then everything moves at once.
He slams his palms together.
