The void breach pulsed around Riven like a living nightmare, its walls of shadow throbbing with a sick, violet heartbeat, a suffocating cage of chaos that squeezed the air from his lungs, a hell that gnawed at his sanity with every step deeper into its gut. Black sand churned beneath his boots, a swirling mess of jagged shards and ash, cutting into his soles, a ground that shifted and groaned like a beast in pain, a trap that wanted to swallow them whole. The air was a thick, rancid stew—rot, blood, and something sharper, a metallic sting that clawed his throat raw, a stench that coated his tongue with every gasping breath, a reminder of the voidspawn they’d butchered and the ones still hunting them in the dark.

  Riven forged ahead, the Archive Shard gripped in his left fist, its golden runes blazing like a dying sun, a fierce light searing the shadows, a lifeline trembling in his blood-slicked hand, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… please…”—a desperate scream echoing from its glow, a call that ripped his heart open and fueled his every swing. His sword hung heavy in his right, its edge notched and dripping with ichor, Shadow Strike still smoldering along its length, a blade forged in rage and baptized in void-born blood, a tool to carve her out of this fucking abyss. His cloak dragged behind him, shredded and soaked, a tattered rag clinging to his back, stained with sweat and gore, a weight he’d carry through hell for her.

  His life force roared inside him, a feral ember clawing against the void’s chokehold, a flame dimmed by exhaustion and grief, fed by the Void’s cold, creeping threads stitching his shoulder’s gash, a dark pulse pounding through his veins, keeping him upright when his body begged to break. His stamina was gone, a ghost shredded to nothing, every step a snarl, his lungs screaming fire, his chest a furnace of pain and will, a man running on raw, jagged hope. Black veins pulsed wild beneath his skin, throbbing like a war drum, shadow surging through him in violent waves, a power that steadied his trembling hands, a tide of fury drowning the dark.

  The Veilborn Interface burned at the edge of his sight, its obsidian frame shuddering like a beast unchained, crimson tendrils snaking thick and fast, a mirror to the corruption tearing his soul apart, a warning flashing—Corruption Critical: Control Slipping—a hiss in his mind, a toll he’d pay in blood and sanity to reach her. He didn’t give a shit—let it take him, let it rip him to pieces, as long as Lyra’s voice kept calling, as long as her light still flickered somewhere in this hell.

  The Veilborn stumbled behind him, their shadows a ragged line against the void’s madness, a band of survivors forged in fire and breaking under its weight, their blades slick with ichor, their breaths ragged gasps in the chaos. The scarred warrior limped at his side, longsword dragging, blood seeping from his leg, his face a mask of scars and grit, his snarl a steady growl, a rock cracking but unbowed. The young Veilborn clutched his arm, red blooming through torn cloth, his short blade trembling in his grip, his eyes wide with terror and fight, a kid drowning in the dark. The woman staggered beside him, her blade sheathed but stained, her scowl twisting into something darker, her gaze darting wild, a storm fraying at the edges.

  The breach warped around them, walls pulsing faster, a tunnel of shadow narrowing, the hum swelling to a skull-shattering roar, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… here…”—closer now, a desperate thread pulling his heart, a call that drove him through the chaos. Voidspawn lunged from the dark, twisted fucks of shadow and claw, their violet eyes blazing hate, a pack of nightmares clawing for their throats. Riven warped, shadow tearing through space, a flicker that shredded his last breath, landing amid them, his sword slashing Shadow Strike, a crescent of void ripping through flesh, ichor spraying hot and black, a scream breaking from his chest—“I’m coming, Lyra!”

  The strike cracked his arms, a brutal jolt that shook his bones, voidspawn crumpling in wet heaps, their screams dying in gurgles, a rush of experience slamming through him, a surge that fueled his next swing, a spark of rage in the storm. Another charged, tendrils whipping for his face, and he ducked, sand slicing his knees, blood trickling warm, a sting he ignored as he thrust up, gutting it, ichor soaking his chest, a roar of defiance—“You won’t stop me!”

  The scarred warrior hacked through one, his blade a flash of steel, tearing a voidspawn’s maw apart, ichor splashing his face, his growl a lifeline—“Keep moving!”—a rock holding steady. The young Veilborn swung, blade slashing wild, a voidspawn’s claw raking his side, red spilling, his cry raw—“Riven!”—a kid fighting to live. The woman slashed, her blade severing a tendril, her snarl sharp—“Damn it, hold!”—a storm breaking through the dark.

  The breach pulsed, a wave of void energy slamming them, a force that threw Riven back, sand and shadow blurring, his shoulder screaming, corruption surging wild, black veins throbbing, a roar of pain and fury shaking his frame. Lyra’s voice cut through—“Riven… please…”—so close he could taste her, feel her, a call that dragged him up, blood and ichor streaking his face, his crimson eyes blazing, a warrior clawing through hell.

  The woman’s voice snapped behind him, sharp and jagged, a blade cutting through the hum—“This is insanity, Riven! She’s dead—you’re dragging us to die for a ghost!” Her words hit like a punch, her scowl twisting into rage, her shadow flaring against the sand, a crack splitting their fire, a doubt that burned his gut.

  Riven spun, his chest heaving, crimson eyes burning into hers, his voice a guttural snarl—“She’s alive—I heard her! I’ll rip this place apart to prove it!” His heart bled, rage and grief colliding, Lyra’s voice a whip cracking through his skull, a vow he’d die for, a man possessed by her light.

  The scarred warrior stepped between them, blood dripping from his leg, his growl low and fierce—“Enough! We’re in too deep—fight or fall, but shut the fuck up!” His blade gleamed, a rock steadying the storm, his eyes flicking to Riven, a flicker of trust holding fast.

  The young Veilborn staggered up, blood soaking his side, his voice a cracked plea—“I believe you, Riven—she’s worth it!” His shadow trembled, a spark of hope glowing, a kid clinging to their bond, a thread fraying but unbroken.

  The breach warped wilder, walls pulsing like a dying heart, a haze of violet and black twisting the air, shadows stretching into shapes—hallucinations clawing from the void. The woman froze, her blade dropping, her eyes wide, a scream tearing from her throat—“No—no!”—a vision of her kin, radiant steel piercing their chests, a nightmare born of her fear, a crack widening in her steel.

  Riven’s senses screamed, the Veilborn Interface flaring, crimson tendrils pulsing—Void Influence: Mental Breach—a warning he couldn’t fight, the void twisting his own mind, Lyra’s face flashing before him, her glow fading, her voice cold—“You failed me…”—a lie that stabbed his heart, a snarl ripping free—“No—you’re real!”

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  The scarred warrior shook his head, blood dripping, his growl fierce—“It’s fucking with us—stay sharp!”—a rock shaking off his own ghosts, his blade slashing air, a man holding the line. The young Veilborn sobbed, his blade swinging at nothing, a vision of his mother crumbling to ash, his cry raw—“Don’t leave me!”—a kid breaking under the weight.

  The woman’s scream peaked, her shadow fracturing, her voice a jagged howl—“I won’t die for this!”—and she bolted, sand kicking up, her blade abandoned, a storm fleeing into the dark, a crack splitting their fire wide open.

  Riven roared, his chest burning, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… here…”—pulling him forward, his sword slashing a voidspawn lunging from the haze, ichor spraying, a rush of rage and grief—“I won’t lose you!”—a warrior fraying, his team shattering, a man clawing through hell for her.

  The breach pulsed, a tunnel narrowing ahead, Lyra’s voice a desperate scream, the void’s whispers taunting, the Veilborn’s cries fading, a trap tightening, a hell they’d fight or die in, Riven’s crimson eyes blazing, a vow to hold them together or break trying.

  The void breach roared around Riven, a suffocating abyss of shadow and violet rage, its walls pulsing like a dying beast, squeezing tighter with every shuddering breath he clawed from the rancid air, a hell that wanted to grind them into dust and swallow their screams. Black sand churned beneath his boots, a jagged storm of spikes and ash slashing his legs, a ground that writhed and snapped, a living trap clawing at their every step, a nightmare that laughed as it bled them dry. The air was a thick, choking sludge—rot, ichor, and a sour bite that seared his throat raw, a stench that coated his lungs with every snarl, a reminder of the voidspawn stalking them, waiting to rip their throats out.

  Riven staggered forward, the Archive Shard gripped in his left fist, its golden runes blazing like a wildfire in the dark, a fierce light scorching his palm, a lifeline trembling with Lyra’s voice—“Riven… here…”—a desperate scream that tore his chest open, a call he’d kill to answer. His sword swung in his right, Shadow Strike smoldering along its edge, a crescent of void dripping with ichor, a blade forged in fury and soaked in shadow-born blood, a weapon that howled her name with every swing, a vow to carve her free from this fucking abyss. His cloak dragged behind him, shredded and heavy, a tattered rag clinging to his sweat-soaked back, stained with gore and tears, a weight he’d haul through hell to feel her again.

  His life force raged inside him, a feral ember clawing against the void’s chokehold, a flame dimmed by pain and breaking under grief, fed by the Void’s cold, creeping threads stitching his wounds, a dark pulse pounding through his veins, keeping him alive when his body begged to shatter. His stamina was ash, a flicker crushed to nothing, every move a snarl, his lungs a furnace of fire and blood, his chest heaving with raw, jagged will, a man fueled by her voice alone. Black veins throbbed wild beneath his skin, pulsing like a war drum gone mad, shadow surging through him in violent waves, a power that steadied his trembling hands, a tide of wrath drowning the dark.

  The Veilborn Interface burned in his sight, its obsidian frame shuddering like a beast breaking loose, crimson tendrils snaking thick and fast, a mirror to the corruption shredding his soul, a warning screaming—Corruption Critical: Mind Fraying—a hiss in his skull, a toll he’d pay in blood and sanity to reach her, a price he’d spit in the void’s face for. He didn’t care—let it rip him apart, let it consume him, as long as Lyra’s light still burned, as long as her scream kept pulling him through this hell.

  The Veilborn reeled behind him, their shadows a broken line against the void’s chaos, a band of survivors forged in fire and cracking under its weight, their blades slick with ichor, their cries ragged and fading. The scarred warrior limped at his side, blood seeping from his leg, longsword dragging, his face a mask of scars and steel, his growl a steady anchor—“Hold it together!”—a rock fraying but unbowed. The young Veilborn clutched his bleeding side, red soaking his torn cloth, his short blade trembling, his eyes wild with terror and grit, a kid drowning in the storm, his voice a cracked gasp—“She’s close—I feel it!”—a spark clinging to hope.

  The woman’s flight echoed in the dark, her scream—“I won’t die for this!”—a jagged wound tearing through their fire, her shadow vanishing into the void’s haze, sand kicking up in her wake, a storm bolting from their line, a crack splitting them wide open. Riven’s heart slammed against his ribs, her words a blade in his gut, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… please…”—a whip cracking through his skull, a call he’d follow alone if he had to, a man breaking for her.

  The breach pulsed, a wave of void energy slamming them, a force that staggered Riven, sand and shadow blurring, his shoulder screaming, corruption surging wild, black veins throbbing, a roar of pain and fury shaking his frame. A voidshade erupted from the dark—sleek, fast, a blur of shadow and claws—lunging for the woman’s trail, its violet eyes blazing hunger, a predator smelling her fear, a deathblow aimed at her back. Riven warped, shadow ripping through space, a flicker that shredded his last gasp, landing in its path, his sword slashing Shadow Strike, a crescent of void tearing through its hide, ichor spraying hot and black, a scream ripping from his throat—“Not her, you bastard!”

  The strike cracked his arms, a brutal jolt that rattled his bones, the voidshade crumpling in a wet heap, its scream dying in a gurgle, a rush of experience slamming through him, a surge that fueled his staggering stand, a spark of rage in the chaos. The woman spun, her eyes wide, blood streaking her face from a shallow gash, her blade lost, her voice a cracked yell—“Riven!”—a plea that stabbed his chest, a bond fraying but not dead.

  He grabbed her arm, yanking her back, his grip iron, his crimson eyes burning into hers, his snarl raw and fierce—“You don’t run—not from us, not from her!” His heart bled, rage and grief colliding, Lyra’s voice a fire in his skull, a vow he’d die for, a man holding them together with blood and will. She stumbled, her scowl twisting, tears cutting through the grime, her voice a broken sob—“I saw them die—my kin—I can’t…”—a storm cracking under the void’s weight, a confession that gutted him.

  The breach warped wilder, walls pulsing like a dying heart, a haze of violet and black twisting the air, shadows stretching into nightmares—hallucinations clawing from the void. The scarred warrior froze, his blade dropping, his growl choking—“No… not you…”—a vision of a child, radiant steel piercing its chest, a ghost from his past, a crack splitting his steel. The young Veilborn screamed, his blade slashing air, his mother’s face crumbling to ash before him, his cry raw—“Don’t leave me!”—a kid breaking in the dark.

  Riven’s senses screamed, the Veilborn Interface flaring, crimson tendrils pulsing—Void Influence: Psyche Breach—a warning he couldn’t stop, the void twisting his mind, Lyra’s face flashing—her glow gone, her eyes cold—“You let me die…”—a taunt that ripped his soul, a snarl tearing free—“No—you’re alive!” He swung blind, sword slashing shadows, ichor spraying, a rush of rage and despair—“I’ll prove it!”—a warrior fraying at the seams.

  The scarred warrior shook it off, blood dripping, his roar fierce—“It’s lies—fight through it!”—a rock clawing back, his blade hacking a voidspawn lunging from the haze, ichor splashing, a man holding the line. The young Veilborn sobbed, his blade trembling, a voidspawn’s claw raking his leg, red spilling, his cry jagged—“Riven, help!”—a kid crumbling under the storm.

  The woman clutched Riven’s arm, her nails digging in, her voice a ragged plea—“I’m sorry—I’m here…”—tears streaming, her shadow steadying, a storm clawing back, a bond bleeding but unbroken. A voidspawn charged, tendrils whipping, and Riven warped, shadow tearing him to its flank, his sword plunging Shadow Strike, ichor erupting, a roar of pain and fury—“We’re not done!”—corruption surging, black veins pulsing wild, a warrior saving her again.

  The breach pulsed, a tunnel narrowing ahead, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… now…”—a desperate scream, the void’s whispers taunting, the Veilborn’s cries fracturing, a trap tightening, a hell they’d fight through or die in. Riven’s crimson eyes burned, blood and tears streaking his face, the shard’s light a spear in the dark, a warrior holding his team together, a vow to reach her or break screaming her name.