Not Quite

Not Quite
They reached the grove's southern edge, and Ruhkaal felt the blockage before they'd gone more than a few hundred yards into the rootway passages. It was the same dense cold pressure the forest's shadow had shown him, but more vicious now. More defended because I knew that it was coming to an end. 
Draevir went first this time, and Ruhkaal watched him move through the earth itself with something between awe and mild jealousy.
It wasn't walking. It was something closer to sinking, Draevir's form blurring at the edges and then simply not being where it had been then being twenty feet ahead, having passed directly through solid root and packed soil as though the distinction between himself and the ground didn’t exist. Draevir surfaced near a particularly dense knot of blockage, scouting it, and sank again before Ruhkaal had caught up on foot.
"Show off," Ruhkaal muttered.
"He needs the practice," Xaruh said, walking beside him. "Earth dragons move through stone the way we move through forest shadows. It's the same principle.”
"He seems a bit more impressive.”
He laughed. They found the blockage's heart a few minutes later, in a chamber where the root network converged into something that should have been a major artery and was instead choked nearly solid, packed dense with a freezing, ancient corruption of some sort of metal. The Wretched Choir was waiting inside it.
It came alive the moment Draevir's movements disturbed the blockage's outer layer, mawless and older, denser shapes poured out of the packed corruption.
Ruhkaal poured fire into the nearest cluster, the rootway turned gold and white as the corruption burned away in long spreading lines. Beside him Xaruh moved through the shadows of the stone, cutting through the mawless with a blade of blue fire. Draevir surfaced from the stone, ripping through a mawless with a strike of lightning. 
A shriek echoed and Draevir yelled back. 
“Fuck you, too!”
Another torrent of lightning flew out of him directly into the denser knot of Choir presence and tore through it. The lightning turned green and the earth shivered, responding to him with violent enthusiasm. Root and rock rose to crush and pin and grind against the corruption trying to flee.
The ground began to shake.
It started subtly, but it deepened quickly, the rootway's walls groaning around them, dust and small stones falling from above.
"Drae'!" Xaruh called, voice sharp.
"I feel it," Draevir said, surfacing fully now, sweat-streaked and breathing hard. "It's not me. Something's—"
The volcano above them answered with a deep, resonant groan that traveled down through every passage at once.
Ruhkaal felt the pressure building somewhere far above them, the released wells finally gushing into the cleared artery. The Choir's blockage buckled under the strain of fire finally pushing through.
"It's going to blow," Ruhkaal said.
"Then we finish this fast," Xaruh said, already moving, his fire joining Ruhkaal's in a coordinated sweep that drove the remaining mawless back against the chamber's far wall.
The Choir screeched in panic, a chorus of distorted voices. The creatures scrambled toward every opening, every crack, trying to flee deeper into the earth or back the way they'd come, but then an unseen force grabbed hold of them and pulled. 
The Choir's remaining presence in the chamber was dragged backward through the passages, sucked through the cleared channels and out, away from the volcano, away from the Great Tree’s roots. 
“We need to get out of here,” Xaruh said. “Drae’, can you—“
The ground shook harder and heaved them up. Draevir took Ruhkaal’s hand and Xaruh’s and dragged them into the stone as if they were extensions of him. Ever craggy ridge and root passed through him, passing along information and memories he couldn’t parse through. It all crammed into his mind, pushing out his conscious thoughts, until they’d reached an open space and the roar of heat from below washed over them. 

Malrik's body convulsed on the ground as Isorai shredded the mawless that had been inside him. He screamed a raw human sound before laying still. 
She took out the rest of the wolves one by one before grabbign him by the collar ad dragging him across the yard, past Brokenfang's broken body and all the carnage. 
This wasn't Hall of Fang, but it was close enough for her purposes. There was a ghost on platform and a marker nearby. That was all she needed.
He clawed at the ground, at her wrist, at anything that might slow her down.
"Wait," he gasped. "Wait, what are you—what do you plan to do with me—"
"You're going to watch," she said.
She threw him onto the platform. He landed hard, scrambling immediately back toward its edge, but the stone beneath him had already accepted her plan and recognized him as a sacrifice, and he found himself unable to cross the boundary had formed at its rim. He clutched at the platform's surface instead, sobbing now. Broken and wretching from the sudden hollow weakness. The man was pathetically human.
Isorai turned toward the mountains to the west.
She felt the volcano’s deep banked heat waiting beneath the earth's surface and reached for it, through the bedrock beneath Hollowfang's territory, through miles of stone and root and old, accumulated rot.
It would be her basin.
Ghostfire erupted from the volcano's distant peak in a column that scorched the sky white, climbing far higher than any natural eruption should have climbed. It spread outward across the horizon in a wave chilling the air.
The gates of the underworld opened.
Everywhere at once, across the entire southern continent that wasn’t a part of Vuldra. The seams between the worlds gave way, and ghostfire poured through every opening in a flood.
Malrik screamed in panic. He clutched the platform's edge as the ground around Hollowfang split apart, the earth cracking in long jagged lines that radiated outward from where he knelt, and through every crack the fire came, white and cold and absolutely without mercy for what it had been sent to consume. It found the Halls first, the deep accumulated rot beneath the Council territory, and it burned through it all. The Wretched Choir screamed with ten thousand voices at once.
Mawless caught in the open dissolved where they stood. Blighted shifters convulsed and collapsed as the corruption inside them was torn free and consumed. The forest lit up beneath the ghostfire's reach, the last threads of rot she hadn't yet reached simply burning away in the wave's wake, leaving clean dark earth and ragged, but clean trees.
Malrik watched all of it from the platform he could not leave, the collar around his throat kept him from shifting, if he could, and kept him unable to reconnect with the Choir.
He had to listen to the endless screams. Isorai stood at the platform's edge with her spear in hand and watched him watch it, exactly as she had promised.
But there was something off about how the Blighted were being consummed. The corruption was being ripped from them. Why wasn’t the underworld taking their souls as well?