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A chill rippled through the air as presence spilled out of the rift. The weight of it pressed on the lungs and spine. The Tower Master’s breath hitched. Helia’s chest seized as if cold hands had closed around her ribs. Had they not steadied their minds on reflex, the pressure alone would have snuffed their awareness like a candle.
Ketal stepped forward, letting his own presence rise to meet that crushing force. He placed himself between the two and the widening tear in space.
“Fall back,” he said. “Warn the others outside. Tell them to clear the field and return to the Mortal Realm at once.”
Helia’s lips parted. “What about you?”
“If I leave this place now, what do you think will happen?”
She closed her mouth. There was only one answer. The Demon King would walk free, and everyone nearby would die. It would not matter if they were Transcendents or Heroes. It would not matter if they had names known across nations. They would die in an instant without even understanding how the end had arrived.
Ketal closed his hand around the axe. “I will do my part. Do yours.”
“We will leave the Demon King to you, Ketal,” the Tower Master said.
“I am sorry,” Helia said, her voice low. “Please hold him.”
They knew they would be of no help here. The Tower Master and Helia turned and ran, slipping through shattered halls and shouting to those still fighting their way toward the castle.
“Everyone, pull back! Put distance between yourselves and the castle!” the Tower Master shouted. “Retreat. Now!”
The air crackled. The tear in reality widened...
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