"Mogrok, your end has come!"
As Andrius's declaration rang through the air, dense clusters of glowing runes rose from the distant Mage Towers, as though countless stars had awakened.
They gathered above High Mountain City and suddenly burst apart like an ignited star, lighting up the morning sky. The radiance was so intense that it outshone the rising sun.
A second sun had risen over the Northern Frontier.
Everyone had escaped the Black Rift, but they kept running.
No one knew how far the Spell that High Mountain City had prepared for so long, at such great cost, would reach—
It would be rotten luck to get caught in the destruction of the Black Rift and fall on the brink of victory.
"You can stop running."
Mr. Swaro spoke as they left the area where Magic Power ran wild.
Annan stopped and looked back, then squeezed his eyes shut against the glare. A blast of heat struck his face, as fierce as the hottest midsummer in the Southlands, before Mr. Swaro raised a magical barrier and cool air returned.
After the blinding light and heat came a violent tremor.
The running human soldiers struggled to stay on their feet, and many fell. The shaking began at the Black Rift and rapidly spread across the land.
Mr. Swaro's magical barrier dimmed the light, letting everyone witness a sight unlike anything they had ever seen:
Thin autumn mist swirled like a vortex above the Black Rift, while converging beams from the Mage Towers plunged into it.
The Black Rift seemed to be torn open by an invisible giant hand. A bottomless chasm spread outward from the center of the Demon Lair, ripping through the surrounding land. The ground collapsed, and layers of rock and boulders tumbled down like an avalanche.
The Demons