CHAPTER 136: DEEP CUT....

The mines of Valebreach plunged deeper into a labyrinth of scorched stone with their tunnels narrowing into claustrophobic passages, the glow of fire essence veins was intensifying, their pulses was a relentless drumbeat against the blackened walls, casting jagged shadows that writhed like specters of Kelvin’s past.

His boots was crunched on the ash-strewn floor, as each step was echoing in the oppressive silence, his pack was heavy with Mealin’s fire-sealed tome, fire-resistant ores, wyrm essence, water runes, ice runes, the rune-etched pick, the Veil-tainted scale, and the psychic crystal, each item a lifeline for the battle ahead, their weight a constant reminder of the stakes.

Xerion slithered beside him, his twenty-foot serpentine form was a cascade of crimson and gold scales, their faint scars were shimmering with restored vitality, the honor rune which was etched in the Sanctum’s infirmary kept glowing softly.

His amber eyes kept scanning the darkness with predatory focus, as their 82% sync ratio kept pulsing warmly in Kelvin’s chest, a light against the memories that clawed at him.

His parents’ deaths in a collapse was triggered by unstable fire essence, their screams were swallowed by the mines’ depths, his father’s burning form was a shadow that etched in his nightmares.

The drake-essence amulet at his chest glowed faintly, its warmth was echoing Mealin’s words: "Honor their legacy, Kelvin and know you that you are stronger than your fear."

The wyrm’s roars reverberated through the tunnels, closer now, shaking loose pebbles that clattered at his feet, their sound was a prelude to the crucible awaiting, but Xerion’s hiss was fierce, his scales was dimming for stealth, a promise of strength as they navigated the treacherous path toward the lair.

The tunnels were a maze of molten traps and unstable shafts, their walls were etched with Veil runes that pulsed with psychic energy, their jagged patterns was a chilling echo of the Rift’s altars, their violet glow was unsettling Kelvin as he recalled the Veil-tainted scale salvaged from the wyrm’s cavern, its hue tying the beast to a larger threat.

Mealin’s tome guided their steps, its leather were cover etched with wyrm lore, its pages detailing the lair’s dangers of molten pools that bubbled with liquid flame, psychic traps that stung the mind with visions of failure, that was collapsing ceilings that threatened to bury them alive.

Kelvin paused to consult the tome, its maps was marking unstable veins and hidden chambers, their warnings were urging caution.

He swung the rune-etched pick, its fire runes was flaring as it shattered debris were blocking a narrow passage, its weight was balanced in his hands, a gift from the smith who had known his parents, its runes a reminder of their legacy, their lessons on etching runes and facing beasts with courage.

Xerion’s tail smashed through larger obstacles, his scales was blending with the shadows, his amber eyes tracking faint glimmers of Veil artifacts with psychic crystals embedded in the walls, their violet glow was pulsing faintly; riftborn scales scattered across the floor, their surfaces shimmering with unstable energy, hints of the wyrm’s unnatural origins, a creation born of Veil hubris.

Signs of Vark’s Crew were littered in the tunnels with dune rune fragments, looted tools, broken crates marked with their jagged sigils, with their greed evident in the scavenged remnants, their tracks was an imminent ambush, their pursuit of the wyrm’s essence a threat to Valebreach’s fragile stability.

Kelvin knelt to examine a shattered crate, its contents was a fire essence shards, half-carved dune runes which was proof of their looting, their presence a shadow that deepened the mission’s stakes, their vow to claim the wyrm’s loot echoing from the Red Wastes ambush where Vark’s mocking laughter had taunted him years ago.

His heart pounded as he clutched his amulet, its warmth easing the memories of his parents’ collapse, their screams a haunting echo in the tunnels’ silence, their absence a void that fueled his resolve to end the wyrm’s threat and stop Vark’s Crew, their legacy a call to protect the town they had loved, their memory a flame that burned through his fear.

Xerion’s hiss was sharp, his senses detecting movement ahead, a faint hum of engines in the distance, their sync ratio guiding their stealth as they approached the lair, the glow of fire essence veins intensifying, the wyrm’s roars a deafening challenge that shook the stone, their bond a flame against the mines’ oppressive darkness, urging them onward to the heart of the beast.

The tunnel opened into a vast space of molten cavern, the wyrm’s lair was a crucible of blackened stone, its walls were encrusted with glowing fire essence veins, their pulses was a heartbeat that matched the beast’s fury, a central pool of liquid flame that rippled with molten light.

Its surface was casting eerie reflections across ancient Veil altars that was etched with psychic runes, and their violet glow was pulsing with unstable energy, casting shadows that writhed like living ghosts across the cavern’s expanse.

The Level 8 Epic Fire-Wyrm loomed at the cavern’s heart, its thirty-foot form was a furnace of molten scales that was blazing crimson and obsidian, its Veil-tainted eyes were glowing violet and their depths pulsed with malevolent power.

Its massive coils were shifting with terrifying grace, its roars was shaking the cavern, sending shards of crystal that crashed from the ceiling with their light fracturing across the molten pool, scattering sparks like dying stars.

The beast was a nightmare made in flesh and its flames were scorching the walls, leaving trails of blackened stone, its presence was a mockery of the mines’ stability, a cruel echo of the collapse that took Kelvin’s parents, their final moments seared into his mind with his father’s burning form, his mother’s screams was lost in the rubble.

His scars burned, the wyrm’s flames was evoking that tragedy, the memory of a knife twisting in his chest, but he stood firm, his gauntlet flared with fire runes tempered by ice, his voice steady as he whispered to Xerion, "This is for them. We will end it here, for Valebreach."

The serpent uncoiled itself, his scales were blazing crimson and gold, his fiery vortex ignited the cavern, its were flames of a challenge that matched the wyrm’s roar, their 82% sync ratio of a heartbeat driving their strategy, their bond was a flame against the beast’s unrelenting fury.

The battle erupted in a blaze of fire and chaos, the cavern trembled as Kelvin wove a fire lance, its flames were sharpened by ice runes, targeting the wyrm’s molten scales, aiming for weak points Mealin’s tome had detailed.

The joints where the scales parted were vulnerable to piercing strikes, their edges were glowing faintly with molten ichor.

Xerion struck with his tail, its honor rune kept glowing as it smashed against the wyrm’s flank, sending sparks flying up with his fiery vortex engulfing the beast, forcing it to rear back, its molten blasts scorched the cavern’s walls, their heat was testing the fire-resistant ores woven into Kelvin’s rune-etched tunic, their glow was a shield against the flames.

The wyrm’s speed was terrifying, its coils were lashing with deadly precision, its flames was a torrent that forced Kelvin to roll, his scars was tingling as he dodged, weaving water runes to douse the fiery waves, steam was rising as the gauntlet’s glow cooled the attack, the cavern’s crystals was reflecting the chaos in fractured bursts of light, with their shards scattering across the molten pool.

Xerion darted through the melee, his scales were flaring, his amber eyes was also locked on the wyrm’s movements, their bond was a seamless flow as they countered its strikes.

Kelvin’s fire lances pierced its scales, Xerion’s vortexes kept burning its wounds, the cavern was shaking with every clash, cracks of spider webbing across the walls and debris raining down, the instability of the mirror of the collapse that haunted Kelvin’s past, threatened to bury them as it had his parents.

Mid way in the battle, the hum of engines and the snarl of beasts cut through the wyrm’s roars, Vark’s Crew was ambushed from a side tunnel, their sleek skiffs of rune-etched hulls pulsed with dune energy and kept skidding into the cavern as their headlights were casting harsh beams across the molten pool, illuminating the chaos in stark relief.

Vark led the charge, his grizzled frame was unmistakable, a scar that was slashing across his face, his leather armor was etched with crude fire runes and their glow was stolen from the mines’ essence, his eyes glinted with greed as he brandished a rune-etched spear, its tip was pulsing with sandy energy, a weapon that forged from the Red Wastes’ dunes.

His crew of five rough men wielded similar spears, their faces were hardened by years of scavenging, their armor was patched with looted runes which flanked him.

Their Level 6 Rare Sandfang Wolves snarled, their fur was bristling with dune runes, their fangs bared, their eyes glowing with hunger, a cruel echo of the Red Wastes bunker ambush years ago.

When Kelvin had first unleashed Xerion’s flames, a novice’s defiance against overwhelming odds, Vark’s voice was a venomous growl, his scar was twisting as he sneered, "You are too late, hero boy.

The wyrm’s essence is ours, and so is your fancy Sanctum gear. Hand it over, or we will carve it from your corpse!" Kelvin’s scars burned, his gauntlet flared with fire runes, his voice was sharp as he countered, "You will burn before you touch it, Vark.