[Chp 13.6] The Frostborn Abyss

At the lands Illyria, with now barely getting notified that five kingdoms have fallen, High Priestess Evelyne prepared her army to get ready for any incoming attack from any side. Even she stood tall at the front of her army ready to confront one of Ember Vow’s top members. She raised her hand high into the sky. “I, High Priestess Evelyne Shall cast the divine protection on everyone!” A radiant magic circle bloomed from her palm, spinning with sacred sigils in celestial gold. It pulsed once — then fractured into thousands of smaller glyphs that soared through the air like sparks of sunlight, each one finding a soldier, healer, or guardian in her ranks. As each sigil embedded itself into armor or skin, a soft glow of divine shielding wrapped around the soldiers — not just physical protection, but a blessing of courage and clarity. The ground beneath them lit faintly, runes expanding outward from her presence like ripples in a sacred pond. The army, once quiet and tense, now stood taller — bolstered not just by magic, but by Evelyne’s very presence. From a distance dust started to appear in the air. “My lady! I see people!” An archer said, “How many?” Evelyne said. “Too many to count My lady!” “Everyone! Get to battle stations now!” Everyone moved into a defensive stance, bows raised, fingers tense on the strings. The air grew unnaturally cold — breath turned to frost, and the once-soft ground began to harden and crack with forming ice. Then—BOOM! A thunderous explosion rocked the battlefield, right at the heart of their formation — where Evelyne stood. “High Priestess!” voices rang out in panic, soldiers stumbling back from the shockwave of frost and light. From the swirling cloud of ice and dust, two silhouettes emerged — locked in fierce combat. Blades clashed with a screeching grind, one side erupting with jagged spikes of ice, the other radiating blinding waves of divine light that burst outward like miniature suns. Snow flurried violently around them. The clash between Vaelion, the Warden of Frost, and High Priestess Evelyne had begun — a collision of cold cruelty and sacred wrath. “You’re going down! I’ll end this in ten minutes flat!” Vaelion’s twin blade burst into a brilliant icy glow, frost swirling violently around him. He leaned in, pressing his full strength into the clash — his blade grinding against Evelyne’s with crushing force, the ground beneath her splintering into fractured stone and frozen shards. “Don’t worry about me!” Evelyne shouted through gritted teeth, her boots digging into the cracked earth. “I’ll be fine! Just focus on his army!” “Yes, understood, my lady!” a nearby commander bellowed. “Everyone — charge! Attack!” Vaelion smirked, ice curling at the corners of his mouth. “Hah! You really think you’ll be fine against me? Guess again!” Snow roared around them like a living storm as Vaelion lunged again, twin blades slashing in a deadly arc. Evelyne pivoted, divine light erupting from her palm and catching one of his strikes mid-air — a flash of radiant force knocking him back a few steps. The moment his boots touched ground, ice erupted beneath him in jagged spears, launching him skyward. He twisted mid-air with inhuman grace, slashing a crescent of frost downward. Evelyne raised her hand. A shimmering barrier of light formed just in time — the icy blade struck it with a deafening clang, cracks spiderwebbing across the shield before shattering into glimmering fragments. She skidded backward from the impact, her breath sharp and eyes fierce. “You’re strong,” she admitted, voice calm but resolute. “But you lack faith — and that’s why you’ll fall.” Vaelion landed in a crouch, frost pulsing from his core. “Faith doesn’t stop a blade through the heart.” He clapped his blades together, and the storm around them obeyed. Winds howled. Spears of ice rained from the heavens. Evelyne responded in kind, thrusting both arms skyward — golden chains of sacred scripture burst forth, catching each spear mid-fall and disintegrating them into harmless snow. Then she surged forward, her staff spinning with divine momentum, striking like a comet of light. Vaelion met her mid-charge. The clash sent a shockwave across the battlefield, flattening soldiers on both sides. His blades locked with her staff — frost against fire, cold against courage. “You’re stalling,” Evelyne said, her voice unwavering. “You said ten minutes.” “I lied.” Vaelion’s body suddenly burst into shards — an afterimage. Evelyne’s eyes widened just before a blade kissed her side from behind, grazing her ribs. She turned fast, blasting a pulse of searing light that sent Vaelion flying back through a tree of ice, shattering it. He growled as he rose, blood on his lip, smirking even as divine energy burned through his frozen armor. “You’ll have to do better than that, Priestess,” he snarled, eyes glowing with wintry rage. “This storm’s just getting started.” “And so is the dawn,” Evelyne answered, eyes glowing like twin suns. Then they charged again — a blur of frost and fire, light and death — as the fate of Illyria trembled with every blow. Steel and ice met radiant fire once more — sparks and frost flared with each strike, lighting the battlefield in bursts of white and gold. Evelyne ducked beneath a wide arc, her cloak searing the air behind her as she rolled forward, planting her staff into the frozen ground. Golden sigils erupted outward in a blinding circle, forming a sacred barrier that pulsed with divine might. Vaelion snarled, leaping high above the sigils, his twin blades forming a spiral of frost around him. “You think light can stop the cold?” he roared, plunging downward like a falling star. But before his strike could land, Evelyne raised both hands, her voice echoing with celestial force: “O Light, Keeper of Oaths — smite the darkness before me!” From the heavens, a colossal beam of sunlight tore through the storm, slamming into Vaelion mid-air. The impact was cataclysmic — it vaporized the frost spiral and hurled his body through his own summoned ice storm. He crashed into a frozen spire, shattering it into a thousand shards. Steam and smoke hissed from his armor as he rose again, coughing. One of his blades hung cracked from the impact. His left arm trembled — scorched by holy fire. But still, he laughed — low, bitter, ice-laced. “I see... I underestimated you.” Evelyne stepped forward, her armor glowing, her silhouette framed by radiant wings — the divine made flesh. “And I gave you too much credit.” Vaelion drove his good blade into the ground. The earth groaned in response. Cracks spread outward like veins, glowing faint blue as frozen roots surged beneath the soil. “Icebind.” The word was a curse. A rumble echoed. The battlefield began to dim. Ice crawled from the cracks, spiraling outward in blighted bloom. Trees froze mid-sway. Rivers turned to jagged glass. Even the corpses began to crystallize where they lay. Soldiers screamed as the cold consumed their boots, then their legs. Time itself slowed under the weight of the frost. Evelyne’s golden wings flared wide, their radiance resisting the advancing chill. She whispered, almost mournfully: “You brought winter to my doorstep... but I carry the flame of the heavens.” She launched forward — a comet of righteous fire. Her staff spun mid-air, meeting Vaelion’s remaining blade with a deafening boom. Divine flame and cursed frost collided. Cracks splintered across the field beneath them. Light burst from those cracks — blinding, raw, holy. A shockwave tore through the ice, splitting the land in a ring of radiant destruction. When the brilliance faded, they stood apart — barely upright, both heaving for breath. A seared slash glowed across Vaelion’s chest, deep and smoking. He dropped to one knee, frost melting around him. Evelyne clutched her side, blood slipping past her fingers. Neither had fallen. But only one still stood tall. The wind whispered: the High Priestess endures. Evelyne exhaled slowly, planting her glowing staff into the broken earth. Her radiant wings dimmed, flickering from exhaustion. The battlefield had fallen silent — nothing remained but the hiss of melting frost and the low groans of the dying. She took a single step forward. Then everything stopped. The wind halted. The frost ceased crawling. Even the wounded stopped moaning — as if the world itself forgot how to breathe. Above, the clouds churned — no longer gray, but black, threaded with pulsing crimson veins. A tremor rolled through the heavens, deep and bone-shaking. Ash began to fall — no, not ash... Burnt snow. It hissed where it landed, eating into stone, bark, and flesh alike. Evelyne's wings faltered. Her breath hitched. Her eyes lifted to the darkening sky. Then came the sound — a low, inhuman crack, like ancient glaciers splitting under a god's fist. She spun. The spire where Vaelion had fallen… was moving. Frozen veins erupted from beneath him, lashing outward like tentacles. The ice twisted and pulsed unnaturally, not melting — but regenerating, wrapping around his body like veins. His limbs convulsed. His chest heaved once… then again… and again. The cracked blade at his side floated upward, fragments spinning. Tendrils of obsidian frost reformed it mid-air — reshaping the weapon into something darker. Hungrier. His eyes opened. Gone was the warrior. What stared out now were void-black eyes, soulless and eternal — with a single sliver of crimson burning at the center, like hellfire trapped in an arctic tomb. Vaelion rose — not like a man, but like a corpse being lifted by invisible strings. With every inch he ascended, the temperature dropped. Soldiers gasped as ice formed in their lungs. Trees groaned. Rivers froze solid with a single breath. Even Evelyne’s divine glow dimmed, flickering under the weight of this impossible cold. Then, with a grotesque snap, the skin on his arms split open. Jagged, glacial protrusions erupted from within — like the skeleton of something ancient forcing its way out. His back split wide. Black blood sprayed in arcs of frozen mist. Wings erupted. Not wings of flesh — but barbed, jagged ice, alive and shrieking as they unfolded. Each beat of their razored edges shredded the air and flayed the snow into screaming needles. He now hovered — arms stretched wide — cloaked in cursed frost and shadowflame. Ancient runes burned across his skin in violent blue-white, glowing like scars carved by time itself. Around him, a storm began to spiral — not of snow or wind, but of screaming souls, trapped in ice, their voices howling through the cyclone that crowned him. When he spoke, it was not one voice — but a chorus of the damned: “You thought you faced a man bound by mortal frost…” The earth trembled. The sky wept fire. “But I was forged in silence — between worlds. I am the end of warmth. I am the Pale Flame. I am the Herald of the Frostborn Abyss.” The sky cracked — literally — tearing open into a spiraling halo of cursed ice above him, inscribed with demonic sigils that bled blue fire. From it rained frozen lightning — not striking, but sculpting. Men and beasts turned to brittle statues of despair where they stood. Evelyne staggered back, lips parted. This wasn’t resurrection. This was apotheosis. She called to her soldiers — but they were already kneeling or falling, overtaken by fear or frost. Some tried to run. Most simply froze. Then Vaelion descended — no, fell, like a divine judgment — his reforged blade trailing ghostfire and soul-burnt ice. He struck Evelyne’s staff. The collision shattered the ground beneath them with a sound like worlds cracking apart. Evelyne’s staff exploded into fragments of light and ash, her body thrown back by the force. She slammed into the frozen earth, pain blossoming in her side like wildfire. The storm howled overhead, lightning lancing through the cursed ice ring that still pulsed with wicked energy. Vaelion landed before her, wings folding with unnatural grace, the corrupted frost dripping from his limbs like blood. His void-black eyes locked onto hers, burning with the endless hunger of the abyss. “You should have fallen with honor,” he hissed, voice layered with the souls entwined within him. “But you defy death itself.” Evelyne struggled to rise, agony flaring with every breath. Yet even shattered, her spirit blazed like a beacon. The divine fire within her flared — faint, but unyielding. “I... am the flame of the heavens,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “And I will never... be extinguished.” She clenched a broken shard of her staff — a glowing splinter of pure light — and raised it against the dark storm. The cursed ice around Vaelion shattered with a roar. The souls imprisoned within screamed, fracturing under the holy spark. Vaelion snarled, lunging forward in a blur of ice and shadow. Evelyne met him, stabbing the shard into the ground. A wave of golden light surged forth, pushing him back. The battlefield trembled again — but this time, something else stirred beneath the earth. A deep, resonant voice echoed through the bones of the land: “The balance must be preserved.” From the shattered earth, radiant figures emerged — ancient guardians clad in shimmering armor, their eyes glowing with eternal light. They formed a circle around Evelyne, raising their weapons skyward. A blinding pillar of light burst from the center of their formation, healing her wounds and igniting her wings anew — this time, blazing with unbreakable resolve. Vaelion hissed, wings beating furiously as he prepared for another strike — but the air thickened, charged with divine power. “Your frost is endless... but so is the light.” With a cry, Evelyne soared upward, wings ablaze, chasing the Herald of the Frostborn Abyss through the shattered skies. The final battle had only just begun. Evelyne surged upward, her wings ablaze with radiant fire, trailing streaks of golden light like a comet. Vaelion twisted in the air, dark frost tendrils whipping violently as the storm around them roared with fury. He struck first — a jagged spear of ice formed from the bitter cold, aimed to pierce her heart. Evelyne dodged with divine grace, the tip shattering against a shield of pure light summoned by her shattered staff’s lingering power. The clash sent shards of frozen crystal scattering through the air like deadly rain. Vaelion snarled, a sound like grinding glaciers. His form blurred and shifted — the cursed ice over his skin flowing like liquid obsidian, reshaping into jagged armor plates that crackled with malevolent energy. His wings beat slower now, but each stroke sent shards of frost slicing through the clouds. “You cling to your light,” he hissed, voice layered with the echoes of the damned. “But warmth will never withstand the Frostborn Abyss.” Evelyne's eyes burned with unyielding defiance. She lifted her glowing shard high, calling to the ancient guardians still below. “Hold the line! The light will not break!” Her shard pulsed, flaring into a lance of pure, searing flame. She thrust it forward, the radiant fire clashing against Vaelion’s shadowfrost in an explosion that lit the skies like a new sun. They spiraled downward — the collision tearing through clouds, scattering lightning and snow. The earth below trembled once more, cracked ice melting into steaming rivers as the holy fire and abyssal cold battled for dominance. Vaelion’s voice echoed through the chaos: “I am the silence before the storm. The chill that kills the last breath. You cannot stop what is already inevitable.” Evelyne gritted her teeth, pushing her remaining strength into the lance. With a cry that split the heavens, she drove it into Vaelion’s armored chest. For a moment, time stilled. The cursed frost cracked and splintered, glowing runes flickering weakly. Then Vaelion roared — a sound of shattered ice and broken souls — and the darkness within him surged like a tidal wave. His wings unfurled fully, spanning wider than ever, slicing the air with a dreadful screech. The storm raged anew, the abyssal cold twisting with divine fire in a deadly dance. And Evelyne knew this fight was far from over. The storm howled like a living nightmare, ice and shadowfire swirling into a suffocating vortex that choked the very light from the world. Evelyne’s radiant lance plunged deep into Vaelion’s chest, but the cursed frost encasing him did not shatter — it devoured the divine flame like a ravenous beast. A sickening crack split the air. Vaelion’s black wings slammed wide, sending shards of frozen agony slicing through the bitter wind. He grasped Evelyne’s glowing staff, now shattered and bleeding light, and crushed it between his ice-bound fingers. The relic shattered like brittle glass, the divine embers dying in a final, desperate pulse. Evelyne staggered, her wings faltering, the golden light draining from her like blood seeping from a wound. Vaelion’s eyes — bottomless voids pierced by cruel crimson slivers — bore into hers as he whispered, venom dripping from every word. “Your light is finished.” With brutal strength, he seized her by the throat, the icy shards piercing her flesh like frozen knives. She gasped — her breath crystallizing in her lungs, each inhale a torment of frostfire. Her golden wings curled, shattering into brittle fragments that fell like dying stars. Vaelion’s other hand raised his reforged blade — now a jagged spear of obsidian and frost, humming with the screams of trapped souls. With a savage roar, he drove it through her chest. A choking sound escaped Evelyne’s lips — half scream, half curse — as her body convulsed, frozen veins bursting beneath her skin. Her blood froze in midair, dripping like shattered rubies before falling to the cracked earth below. The battlefield fell deathly silent except for the cruel crackle of ice spreading like a cancer. Vaelion pulled his blade free, twisting it slowly as Evelyne’s lifeless eyes stared blankly at the storm-dark sky. A deep, cold shadow settled over the land. He turned, his massive wings folding like the closing of a tomb. The frozen winds whispered mournfully through broken trees and shattered stone. Vaelion’s heavy footsteps cracked the ice beneath him as he began his slow, inevitable march toward the Jagged Hill — a desolate spire of shattered rock and shattered souls. The throne of Voragoth loomed in the distance, carved from obsidian and frost, crowned with jagged spikes like the bones of a fallen god. As Vaelion ascended the hill, the cursed runes on his skin pulsed brighter, the abyssal storm swirling around him growing stronger. Behind him, the battlefield was swallowed by silence and frost. The light was extinguished. The Herald of the Frostborn Abyss had returned — and the darkness was complete.