The humming stops.
It is replaced by a high-pitched, agonizing, dimensional SCREAM.
The entire cavern shakes. Stones as big as my head rain down from the ceiling. The glowing, green moss flares bright as a sun, then flickers wildly, plunging us into terrifying strobes of light and dark. The shimmering portal behind Larda flickers and twists violently, destabilizing.
The Wildspont is overloading.
Larda laughs, a wild, ecstatic sound. "A catastrophic overload! Perfect!"
He turns away from Threk, who is still tearing apart the last two soldiers. The battle is over.
Larda stalks toward me.
His face is lit by a terrible, ecstatic glee. "You. You did this. You infected my creation. You broke my perfect toy." His voice is a low, purring hiss of triumph. "You. You are the flaw."
He stops, towering over me, a beautiful, dark god of destruction.
"And flaws," he hisses, "must be erased. I don’t need you breathing."
He raises his hand.
Dark, black energy, shot through with pulsing, violent purple lightning, swirls around his palm. It is not a spell. It is an execution.
I am frozen. This is it. The end of my penance. Joric died for nothing. Threk fought for nothing.
My death is my destiny.
Across the cavern, Threk rips the throat out of the last elven soldier. He throws the body aside.
He turns.
He sees Larda. He sees the swirling, black, and purple death gathering in the elf's palm. He sees it aimed at me.
My own world has gone silent. I freeze, my body a useless, cold thing. This is it. The end. My penance. I can't even find the strength to close my eyes.
Threk's red eyes widened. The feral rage of the battle is gone, instantly replaced by a new, human expression: pure, absolute, agonizing terror.
"NO!"
He roars my name, a sound of such desperation it tears through my paralysis. "BETTY!"
My eyes snap to him. He's not looking at Larda. He's looking at me.
And he leaps.
He doesn't run. He doesn't charge the dark elf. He leaps across the entire cavern, a blur of desperation and power, his wounded leg forgotten. He is not aiming for the enemy.
He is aiming for me.
I don't even have time to scream. My mind cannot process what is happening.
His body, a mountain of muscle and hide and heat, slams into me, just as Larda's spell unleashes.
The air is driven from my lungs in a crushing, painful whoosh. I am smashed between his body and the mossy floor. I am enveloped. I am buried in his heat and his scent.
He’s shielding me.
I feel the unimaginable tension lock through his entire body. His muscles turn to stone above me, bracing for the impact.
