Chapter 87: The False End
Caelgorr fell to the grey stone with a thunderous crack, his monstrous body collapsing in a grotesque sprawl. A final shriek—high, raw, almost human—was cut short as he hit the ground. The many eyes dotting his malformed form shut in unison, flicking closed like iron shutters, leaving him... still.
Dead.
Eri landed softly beside the corpse, her armor blood-streaked and torn. Llarm hovered just above, his wind magic flickering as it gently lowered her. She didn’t speak or move; she simply stood there, blade still in hand, chest heaving, staring at the thing she’d just killed.
Bruma, panting like a winded bull, hunched forward with her massive hands braced against her knees. Her axe thudded against her back as she sheathed it—slow, deliberate, exhausted. Sweat gleamed on her green skin like morning dew, and her shoulders trembled with every breath.
Gindu groaned as he peeled himself from the wall he’d been smashed into, shards of stone raining from his broad back. Dust puffed up around him as he shook it off. His deep-blue scales remained sharp, refracting the dim light like shattered glass. His golden eyes were haunted but focused. He limped toward the group, every movement stiff with pain.
The chamber fell silent—not peace, not relief, just shock.
Even the temple itself seemed to be holding its breath.
Lucy stood closest to Caelgorr’s corpse, only a few feet away. And yet... his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. The fog was gone, the battle over—but something was wrong. He could feel it. The battle had been too easy, too clean.
’That’s it?’ His thoughts buzzed like a broken radio. ’Was it really that easy? Caelgorr—the protector of the Obsidian Chronicle? Without his fog, he was just... this?’
His disbelief broke into a dry, little mad chuckle. He looked up at the others, his lips twisting into a tired grin.
"Well, I guess that was it then?" His voice cracked. "You were right, Gindu. He was just a wyrmling."