Lightning surged as Abram streaked into the sky, his body a living bolt of fury and will.
The air screamed around him as he reformed just behind the Dryad, his body slamming into its back with the full force of his momentum.
The Dryad roared in pain as it was sent hurtling through the air, crashing into the remains of the pillars of the now dead barrier at the edge of the battlefield.
Abram didn't hesitate.
He streaked after it, landing with a thunderous crash just as the Dryad was regaining its footing. Freedom sang in his hand, the blade whining like a thin line of white light that seemed to slice through the very air.
The Dryad lunged, hands outstretched, vines lashing out like giant whips.
Abram was a blur, turning into lightning and reforming faster than most could see. He was like a firefly zipping around a tree, Freedom cutting through the vines like paper.
He zipped through the air, reformed, transformed once again, ducked under a giant claw, twisted as he reformed, and drove the blade into the Dryad's thigh, severing a chunk of corrupted wood.
The Dryad screamed, the sound making the air vibrate. The scream pounded into the brain of everyone present, driving them to their knees. Abram was stuck in mid-air, his left hand flying up to cradle his head.
The Dryad moved, a vine made half of wood and half of darkness lashed out from its chest, wrapped around Abram's torso and hurled him into the ground.
Abram smashed into the earth, creating a large crater. The ground shook, dust and stone raining in every direction.
The Dryad's foot descended and Abram's eyes widened. He transformed into lightning and zipped away, reforming mid flight, landing on one knee.
He straightened, blood trailing down his forehead.
The Dryad turned towards him and with a roar, began running towards him. Abram spat out the blood in his mouth and raised Freedom, transforming and streaking across the sky with a loud boom.
The sky cracked as they met again.
The two titans went blow for blow.
The Dryad sensed the power of the blood locked weapon, sending vines between every strike and itself, but Freedom slashed through everything, cutting away rot and shadow.
The Dryad roared in frustration as it began retaliating with sheer brute force, sending tremors with every movement.
A single punch cratered the ground beneath Abram, sending cracks spidering in all directions. He skidded backward, his boots gouging twin trenches in the dirt.
Then the Dryad tore the air itself.
Its claws moved in a rhythm that sent pain through the eyes of anyone seeing it, carving glowing sigils into reality.
The sky above them rippled, reality warping, colors bleeding from the world as rifts began to open. The rifts moved like they were living beings, their openings flickering madly. They howled, creating a suction force that began sucking everything it could into it.
Abram raised Freedom, and with one breath, he moved.
A single arc of his blade sliced through the corrupted sky.
The rifts screamed, recoiled, and shattered. The Dryad roared in pain as the magic was undone, its claws recoiling, its arms burned by the backlash. The backlash of energy also raced to Abram, tearing through his chest and ripping his inside apart.
He coughed blood, his left hand covering his mouth and the other gripping Freedom tighter. He wasn't going to stop here.
He streaked to the Dryad, reforming to crash into it again. The creature was sent flying, landing in the now empty village.
Abram didn't let it stand, streaking into the air above it and shooting back down like a meteor, crashing into it.
The Dryad roared as the ground cracked beneath it, dust and stone flying in every direction. Houses fell into splinters, and the very ground shook and shifted.
The air burned as the energy between the two titans coiled around each other. The Dryad twisted into itself, going quadrupedal.
It roared, sending a mental spike of pain through everyone's brains as it swiped at Abram.
Its claws tore through Abram's ribs, tearing off a chunk of flesh and blood. Abram coughed, spewing even more blood, transforming into lightning to dodge the blow.
He could feel himself slowing. His body was shutting down and he was using and losing too much blood. But he kept going.
Freedom glowed in his hands, feeding on his will as much as it did on his blood.
The Dryad reared back, eyes glowing a sickly green. Energy pulsed through its entire body as it raised its arms to the sky.
Energy began gathering at its chest, swirling into a sphere of dark green light that crackled and popped between its palms.
Abram watched it, panting. This is it.
His hand gripped Freedom's hilt tighter. He took one step forward. Then another.
The Dryad unleashed its blast.
A wave of devastation rushed toward Abram, annihilating everything in its path.
One perfect step. One perfect strike.
The blade cleaved through the blast like it was air, parting the energy, slicing the storm into nothingness.
Freedom continued in its downward path and carved through the Dryad, the wave going straight into its core.
The light in its eyes flickered. It took a staggering step backward, then another.
A long, keening wail left its mouth as the energy holding its corrupted form together unraveled. The bark peeled away. The vines fell limp. And the rot slowly disappeared.
What remained was beautiful. Ethereal. An ancient creature of shimmering light and serenity.
The Dryad looked at Abram with sadness in its eyes.
Then it crumbled to dust.
A wind swept through the battlefield, catching the fragments, lifting them into the sky. They sparkled like starlight. Then, they were gone.
The world was silent.
He looked down at Freedom.
He thought of Maria. Of Darius. Of Ren and Felix. Of their childhoods. Of his father. Of the day he'd found Maria on the border. Of the battle.
Then Freedom slipped from his hand, burying itself into the soil.
Abram Ross died on his feet.
Maria's scream tore through the air.
Where the Dryad had been, a shockwave rippled.
As it traveled and hit the barbarians, their magic evaporated.
Wyverns shrieked as they plummeted from the sky, crashing with deafening roars.
Bellamy, still bleeding and standing at the edge of the battlefield, dropped to his knees.
All around, the barbarian army broke.
They fled. Scrambling over one another in desperation, tossing aside weapons and armor.
There was no pursuit.
No cheers from House Ross or Underwood.
Only the sound of ash falling from the sky.
Only the sound of weeping.