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Liam stood in front of Ciri now, body glowing faintly with raw power. Liam didn't realize that his magic ability was slowly climbing up as they had been fighting. Normally a sorcerer would take some time to recharge themselves and calm their body down, because chaos magic flowing through their veins in large quantity was a huge burden to most. 

But Liam didn't realize. He wasn't feeling any pain at all. 

"You alright?" he asked without turning.

"Yes," Ciri said, "Vesemir—he's—"

"I've got him."

Liam knelt and placed a hand over Vesemir's wound, light spilling from his palm as he whispered ancient words.

Behind him, Caranthir rose again. 

"You dare stand between me and the blood of kings?" he hissed.

Liam looked over his shoulder.

"I dare."

He stood and raised his staff again. Ciri stepped beside him, sword drawn. This time Liam uttered a spell and a small wooden hand grew out of his missed limb. He had finally mastered this constant manipulation of chaos magic. Cathbad had once spoken about this and now he was able to do it finally. 

Caranthir's hands glowed, frost coalescing between his fingers. He had noticed that Liam's hand has returned by using magic but he wasn't that surprised. The makeshift wooden hand he conjured moved with eerie fluidity, flexing with barely a thought.

"You will both kneel before the Wild Hunt," Caranthir growled.

Ciri didn't wait. She blinked forward in an instant, her blade flashing toward his chest. Caranthir caught it on a ward—just in time—but Liam was already mid-incantation.

"Lasta cirien i vanya ar'kara!"

Vines of golden energy burst from the earth, twining around Caranthir's legs. He blasted ice downward to free himself, but Ciri blinked again, this time behind him, striking twice. One slash drew sparks from his armor; the other split the plating along his side.

Caranthir growled and unleashed a wave of frost that forced them both to leap away. They circled him—Liam on the left, and Ciri on the right. 

Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Imlerith charged like a war elephant through rubble and fire.

"Get him off the mages!" Geralt shouted. Steve intercepted, shield raised. Imlerith's mace crashed into it like a meteor, sending both skidding backward—but Steve held firm.

Natasha flanked left, sliding under Imlerith's swing and planting a device on his thigh.

 "Package delivered!"

BOOM.

The leg staggered, and Eskel rushed in, blades gleaming. Still, Imlerith's armor was thick—his pain tolerance, inhuman. But he wasn't moving toward the towers anymore. That was all they needed.

Above them, the sky shuddered.

A great crack of thunder split the clouds, and something streaked through them like a comet.

Eredin had finally stepped forward, sword gleaming with anti-magic, headed straight for the keep.

He didn't get far.

Mjolnir struck him like the hand of a god.

Eredin's body went flying backward, crashing through a wall. A second strike followed before he could recover—Thor landed hard in front of him, lightning pulsing from his entire body.

"Leave this realm, frost-wraith," Thor said. 

"You are no part of this, human." Eredin hissed and rose. 

"Human!" Thor felt insulted for being called a human. "You will regret those words." 

And with that, their duel began—hammer against sword, lightning against void magic.

Back by the ruined fountain, Caranthir roared and summoned three portals in succession. Fire, frost, and darkness surged forth.

Liam countered with a single upward swing—his staff unleashing a protective ward that absorbed the brunt of it. The effort singed his arm, but he didn't waver.

"Ciri—your left!"

Ciri blinked out of the way as a frost spear sailed toward her.

Then, she reappeared inside Caranthir's guard, slashing straight down with a war cry. He raised a gauntlet to block, but Liam's staff came from behind—swinging like a hammer.

CRACK.

Caranthir reeled. His helmet cracked down the side. Blood trickled beneath.

"You little—" he snarled.

And then a second sword came from behind him—Vesemir.

Bleeding, limping, but undeterred, the old witcher had risen and now tried to stab the elven mage through the back.

Caranthir turned just in time.

The blade pierced his armor—but not deeply.

In retaliation, Caranthir conjured a spear of ice and drove it straight through Vesemir's thigh, impaling him to the ground.

"VES!" Ciri screamed.

Caranthir yanked his spear free from Vesemir's leg, sending the elder Witcher slumping onto the blood-soaked snow, gasping. Ciri's scream echoed across the courtyard, and her composure snapped like glass under pressure.\

"No!" she cried.

"Ciri, wait—!" Liam turned instinctively toward her, hand half-raised—but too late.

Caranthir was ready.

He twisted away from her reckless strike, sidestepped, and threw a hand up, unleashing a shockwave of frost magic. It struck her squarely in the chest, launching her backward. She crashed against the stones with a cry, her sword flying from her grip and skittering across the courtyard.

"Foolish girl," Caranthir hissed. "The blood of Lara belongs to us."

Liam, momentarily torn between checking on Ciri and Vesemir, looked back just in time to see Caranthir disappear—then reappear behind him. 

Time slowed.

The tip of a jagged ice blade shimmered, inches from his spine.

But in that heartbeat, something small—a blur of white fur—leapt between them.

SHHKK!

The blade didn't pierce Liam.

It struck Elie.

The little rabbit had appeared from the rubble where she'd been healing Lambert. Her body collided with the blade mid-thrust—sparing Liam from a fatal blow. The blade ran straight through her, her body trembling as she let out a soft, pained whimper.

"Elie?" Liam whispered, stunned.

He turned, and everything around him stopped.

The world dulled. The chaos faded. The roar of battle, the clashing steel, the spells and screams—all of it went distant, as if underwater.

Elie looked up at him with tired, glassy eyes. Her small paws twitched against his chest, her blood staining his robe. She smiled, as only she could. Her form shimmered faintly, yes it shimmered. It fluctuated a bit and within a second, Elie's body faded way. Not died. But faded. 

"Ancient magic." Caranthir muttered. 

And just when Caranthir was going to drag Liam by his throat, he looked up. 

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