Our forces fell back. If all was well, they would not be needed. If not, they would be of no help. The archdragon took command as we three leaders gathered before the kiln's entrance. My wife was recovering, watched over by our son. For this final approach, I brought my four faithful: my bodyguard, the captain, the archer, and the assassin. The Witch came with our daughters. The First of the Dead stood alone.
My knights and I led as we descended the spiral stair to the firepit's entrance.
It was surprisingly small within. Ash was piled up everywhere, along with the assassins' bodies.
Fire lashed at us before we could fully take in what we saw. It roared over my head as the Witch drew it into herself. Then she screamed and collapsed, for it was not merely the Frenzied Flame. It was the same golden-yellow as the Beast had been. It was both halves of the One Great, and the Witch of Chaos was too Rotten to bear such an influx of Order.
I yelled for us to break so we would not be a single target. I leapt headlong into the enemy.
Whatever sort of Tarnished the Lord may have been, it was a thing of perverse unity now. It was one of those sprites of Grace, those silhouettes almost in the shape of a human. Only, it did not shine. The yellow-gold aura shone about it, and it had two such burning eyes. But like the Beast, it was a thing of void and dark. The power it wielded was of the One Great, but it burned like the curse of the soulless.
It hovered there amongst the ash, looking in all directions with eyes that could not emote. The Gloam-Eyed Queen lay before it, defeated but still breathing.
I had sought to make a probing strike, to see what became of my blade when it struck divinity. I still do not know what happened. I have been told it was a curse, but I have heard so many things called such that the word has lost all meaning to me. Whatever the case, the thing fell gently, and the kiln crackled to life.