The battlefield stretched behind Mordred like a titanic sea of flames, an apocalyptic symphony of muffled explosions and unleashed magic. The heavens themselves seemed to weep tears of fire, streaked with magical lightning that tore through the nascent darkness. The air was saturated with energy so dense it crackled against his skin, each breath burning his lungs with the acrid bite of gunpowder and blood.
The pain in his side still tormented him, throbbing like an ember that refused to die, but he could distinctly feel the new powers acquired from Patriarch Ignivara miraculously accelerating his regeneration. This wasn't simply healing - it was transformation. Each beat of his heart diffused renewed power through his aching muscles, a supernatural vigor that gradually strengthened his wounded body, repairing not only flesh but fortifying his very essence.
