Prince Eyrin let out an ear-splitting cry as the power of the storm channeled fully into his blade. The ground quaked beneath him as he leapt into the air, his sword arcing through the chaos with devastating force. As he descended, he swung the sword downward in a wide, furious motion, aiming straight for the fake Bain.
The fake Bain let out a shrill, piercing cry of agony as the sword connected. The energy coursing through the blade wasn't fire—it was something far more destructive. His body didn't burn; it began to disintegrate, his form breaking apart into countless ashes, scattering into the wind.
Prince Eyrin walked closer to the smoldering ashes, his gaze unwavering as he watched the remnants of the fake Bain burn away. Nearby, Nameless lay on the ground, weakened but still clinging to consciousness as Lady Pherna carefully tended to his neck wounds.
