The battlefield quaked beneath Lucian's feet as he sprinted through the narrow, ancient corridors of the catacombs, Isolde at his side. Around them, the oppressive air crackled with the sinister hum of dark magic, growing stronger with every step they took. The faint glow of their enchanted torches flickered wildly, casting ominous shadows on the stone walls.
"How much time do we have?" Isolde asked, her breath steady despite the urgency in her voice.
"Not enough," Lucian replied, his eyes sharp and focused. "If they complete the ritual, it'll tear through everything aboveground. The wards, our armies—none of it will hold."
Ahead of them, Tiberius led the way, his face pale but determined. The magical energy suffusing the tunnels was unlike anything he had ever encountered—a twisted, corrupted force, bound to the very bones of the earth. They could feel its pulse, a dark heartbeat in the depths below, drawing power from ancient, forgotten places.
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