Page 25 of Magic Undaunted

Stryker’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but his expression quickly sobered as he turned toward the distant stronghold. “We’re ready for this.”

She nodded, her heart pounding with both anticipation and fear. The battle ahead would be fierce, but she had to believe they could win.

“Let’s finish this,” Elyria said softly, her voice laced with determination.

The battle erupted with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath their feet. Magic clashed in the air, bolts of raw power slicing through the sky as fae on both sides unleashed their abilities. Elyria’s heart raced as she led her forces forward, her sword gleaming in the dim light, her magic sparking around her like lightning.

The human mage’s creations swarmed toward them—twisted abominations that had once been fae, their bodies warped and broken by dark magic. They moved with horrifying speed, their eyes glowing with an eerie light, their twisted limbs lashing out with lethal precision.

“Tavish’s weapons!” Elyria shouted over the roar of battle. “Now!”

Tavish, standing at the front lines, lifted a gleaming blade, its edge pulsing with magic. He had spent weeks forging these weapons, imbuing them with spells strong enough to cut through the mage’s twisted creations. His hammer rang out as he swung, the enchanted blades slicing through the abominations with brutal efficiency.

But the creatures were relentless. They kept coming, their bodies regenerating as fast as they were cut down, dark tendrils of magic knitting their wounds back together in sickening displays of power.

Elyria gritted her teeth, her magic flaring as she unleashed a blast of energy, knocking a group of creatures back. She could feel the strain of the battle weighing on her, the overwhelming force of the mage’s power pressing down on them all.

“Elowen!” she called, her voice sharp with urgency.

The healer appeared at her side, her hands glowing with soft, golden light as she tended to the injured. Elowen’s healing magic was pushed to its limits, the sheer number of wounded fae forcing her to work faster than ever before. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but she didn’t stop, her ferocity to save the wounded as fierce as any of them engaged in the fight.

“We need to keep moving,” Stryker said, his voice rough as he cut down another creature beside her. His movements were fluid, precise, his coordination with Elyria perfect as they fought side by side, just as they had in the days before everything had fallen apart.

The magic of her army wove together seamlessly, each move complementing the other, the bonds of brotherhood reigniting in the heat of the battle. But there was a bittersweet edge to it—a knowledge that, no matter how perfectly they fought together, the stakes had never been higher. There was no room for hesitation. One mistake could cost them everything.

“We can’t hold them off much longer!” Finnian shouted, his blades flashing as he defended the front line.

Elyria’s eyes narrowed as she looked toward the heart of the stronghold. “Then we go for the mage.”

Stryker nodded, his gaze meeting hers with fierce resolve. “Together.”

They pushed forward, cutting their way through the chaos. The stronghold loomed ahead, dark and forbidding, its walls pulsing with the dark magic that had fueled the mage’s experiments. As they approached, the twisted creatures grew stronger, their attacks more ferocious, but Elyria and Stryker fought with a relentless determination.

Every strike, every blast of magic, brought them closer to the heart of the stronghold.

They reached the massive iron doors at the center of the fortress, and with a surge of Elyria’s magic and Stryker’s strength as a griffon, they forced them open, sending shockwaves through the structure.

As they entered the central chamber, Elyria's heart pounded at the sight before them. The room was bathed in an ominous, pulsing glow. The massive weapon the human mage had been building stood at the center, a vortex of dark energy swirling above it, bending the very fabric of reality. It was mesmerizing—a dizzying dance of malevolence and magic.

Inside, the mage stood waiting, his hands raised as he prepared to activate the final spell. His eyes gleamed with malicious power, dark tendrils of magic swirling around him like a storm. The air was thick with his corruption, the very walls of the stronghold pulsing with the twisted energy of his experiments.

“You’re too late,” the mage hissed, his eyes glowing with malevolent power. “The weapon is nearly complete. With it, I will tear this realm apart and rebuild it in my image.”

Stryker’s grip tightened on his sword, magic crackling all around his fingertips. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Elyria stepped beside him, her wings unfurling slightly as her magic rebounded to life, undaunted by the previous battle. “You’ve caused enough destruction. This ends now.”

The mage let out a low, mocking laugh, his tainted magic swirling around him like a storm. “Foolish fae. You cannot stop what’s already in motion. This power will consume everything—Celestia, your precious High Council, and the entire realm. And when it does, I will be the one in control.”

The vortex above the weapon grew larger, the energy tearing at the edges of reality and distorting the space around them. Elyria felt the pull of the wicked magic, its unnatural force threatening to unmoor her from everything she knew. She exchanged a glance with Stryker, their unspoken bond tightening as they faced the impossible together.

“We stop him,” Elyria whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos around them.

Stryker nodded, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “No matter what it takes.”

With a roar, Elyria and Stryker charged forward, her magic flaring as he brandished his sword, forging their path and keeping her safe as they launched themselves into the fray. The room erupted with the clash of power—light and dark colliding in an explosion of energy. Elyria’s heart raced as she struck out with her magic in swirling arcs of brilliant silver and pink. She felt Stryker’s presence beside her, his sword merging and enhancing her magic in a seamless dance of combat.

But the mage was powerful—more powerful than either of them had anticipated. His dark magic lashed out like a whip, striking with deadly precision and forcing them back. The vortex above the weapon grew larger, tearing at the fabric of reality with every passing second.

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