Chapter 117: The Primordial Rift End 1
The Tide’s Crest pressed forward from the crevice near the Abyss Core, their footsteps were heavy on the scorched earth and the weight of the coded tablet’s revelation.
"The Veil’s origin is the Primordial Rift, is beyond the Abyss Core. The Sovereign’s final stand awaits."
The message drove them toward their final confrontation with unrelenting urgency.
Kelvin led the way, his chest and leg wounds was painful beneath blood-soaked bandages from the riftmonarch and stormhawk battles, each step he took was a rise of pain that tested his endurance to its breaking point.
The Veil codex was heavy in his pack, its leather cover was etched with faintly pulsed runes that held the final clues to unraveling the Veil’s origin which was a malevolent force that threatened to reshape the world under Master Veyra’s iron command.
The cloaked figure’s fleeting shadow and its runes were glowing before vanishing into the twisted undergrowth, which haunted Kelvin’s thoughts, a chilling reminder of the unseen threat stalked them.
Xerion slithered beside him, his twenty-foot serpentine form a cascade of crimson and gold scales, scarred from battles across the Shattered Peaks, Verdant Hollow, Iron Fens, Riftspire, Abyssal Caldera, Sanctum, and Veilheart Abyss, yet radiant with unyielding strength.
The Level 8 Legendary’s amber eyes scanned the shadows, his hiss was sharp, sensing the Veil’s dark energy that pulsed like a heartbeat through the molten ground.
Their 82% sync ratio burned like a furnace in Kelvin’s chest, anchoring his focus against the dread of facing Master Veyra, Master Torin, and the Sovereign’s true, terrifying power.
Lyra followed closely, her shadow-etched gauntlet pulsed with an arsenal of enhancements, Peaks’ dark runes, gloomstalker spores, labyrinth vine essence, griffon feathers, Fenheart obelisk runes, riftwraith claws, shadowdrake fangs, riftclaw pincers, riftbeast scales, psychic crystals, riftlord spines, and riftmonarch scales, its glow was flickering under the strain of her pain.
Salaris, her shadow-cloaked raptor, moved ahead, her iridescent feathers blended with the darkness of the jagged cliffs, while her talons were gleaming with lethal precision, stained with rift monarch essence from the Abyss Core’s brutal battle.
Lyra’s arm and side wounds bled through her bandages, each movement a grimace of agony, her face pale but her green eyes burning with defiance, fueled by the memory of her sister’s ghost twisted by Veyra’s cruel psychic visions.