The air was thick with tension as Lareth moved swiftly among the archers, his sharp gaze scanning the disorganized group. Sweat beaded on his forehead, not from exertion but from the weight of the responsibility he carried. He had been tasked with leading this team, and he knew full well that their lives depended on his ability to get them ready in time.

The barricade, a hastily constructed wall of wood, stone, and whatever debris they could find, stood about halfway completed. It wasn't nearly enough to keep the demons at bay for long, but it would have to do for now. Lareth crouched beside one of the younger archers, a boy no older than seventeen, trembling as he fumbled with his bowstring.

"Steady, lad," Lareth said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We'll have time for nerves later. Right now, we need to finish this line."

The boy swallowed hard and nodded, though his hands still shook. Lareth patted him on the shoulder before moving on, his thoughts racing. The demons would be coming soon, and they were nowhere near ready. Only about seventy percent of the fall-back line had been completed, and he could already feel the pressure mounting. Every moment they delayed gave the demons more time to close in on them.

"Faster!" he barked to the group as a whole. "We need those stakes up, now! And someone check the supply of arrows—if we run out before the real fight begins, we're finished."

The archers worked as quickly as they could, but the fear in their eyes was unmistakable. They were villagers first, warriors second, if at all. Many of them had never seen a demon up close, let alone fought one. Lareth had drilled them as best he could, but there was only so much that training could do against a foe like this.

He turned to one of his lieutenants, a seasoned archer named Fennel, whose face was set in a grim expression. "How much longer do you think we have?"

Fennel glanced toward the tree line, his eyes narrowing as though he could sense the enemy just beyond the horizon. "Not long," he muttered. "I’d give it ten minutes, at best. Maybe less."

Lareth cursed under his breath. Ten minutes wasn't nearly enough time. He could see the barricade in his mind's eye—a line of defense, sure, but with glaring gaps and weak points where the demons could break through with little effort. He needed more time to strengthen it, to organize the archers, to give them at least a fighting chance.

But the demons weren’t going to wait.

A low, rumbling sound began to fill the air, growing louder with each passing second. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and a sense of dread settled over the archers as they froze, eyes wide and fixed on the tree line.

"They’re coming," Fennel said, his voice flat with the kind of fatalism that only years of battle could bring.

"Archers!" Lareth’s voice rang out, pulling the others back to the present. "Positions! Get to your posts, now!"

The archers scrambled into position, their makeshift barricade looming behind them as they formed a loose line. Bows were drawn, arrows knocked, and all eyes were on the forest. Lareth moved to the front, his own bow in hand. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had to be the one to hold them together, even when everything around them was about to fall apart.

And then, they appeared.

The demons emerged from the trees like a tide of blackened nightmares, their red eyes glowing in the dark. They moved swiftly, their claws tearing at the earth as they charged toward the archers. Lareth could see them in horrifying detail now—massive creatures, their bodies twisted and deformed, with jagged teeth and long, razor-sharp claws. There were hundreds of them, far more than they had prepared for.

"Loose!" Lareth shouted, and the first volley of arrows soared through the air.

The arrows rained down on the demons, striking some of the smaller ones and bringing them down, but the larger creatures barely slowed. The archers fired again, and again, but the demons kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. Every arrow that found its mark was replaced by another demon in the ranks, and soon the archers were forced to fall back.

"Retreat to the barricade!" Lareth ordered, his voice straining to be heard over the roars of the advancing demons. "Hold the line as long as you can!"

They fell back in a controlled retreat at first, but it wasn’t long before panic began to set in. The demons were closing in too fast, their speed and ferocity overwhelming the archers. One by one, Lareth’s men started to fall. A scream pierced the air as a demon grabbed one of the archers, tearing him apart in a spray of blood before moving on to the next victim. Another was taken down by a swipe of a massive claw, his body crumpling to the ground before he even had a chance to cry out.

Lareth fired arrow after arrow, but it felt like trying to hold back the tide with a single twig. He turned to see Fennel beside him, his face pale as he loosed one more shot, only for a demon to leap upon him, crushing him beneath its weight. There was no time to mourn. No time to think.

"We can’t hold them!" someone shouted from behind.

"Fall back! Everyone, fall back!" Lareth ordered, desperation clawing at his throat.

They sprinted for the barricade, what was left of them, but the demons were too fast. They were already upon them, and Lareth watched in horror as more of his men were cut down, their bodies littering the ground like broken dolls. By the time they reached the barricade, nearly ninety percent of the archers had been wiped out.

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Lareth’s breath came in ragged gasps as he glanced over his shoulder. The demons were right behind them, relentless, and there was nowhere left to run.

"Keep moving!" he urged the few remaining archers. "We have to make it to the village!"

They barely managed to pull themselves over the barricade as the demons crashed against it like a tidal wave, claws and fangs tearing at the wood. For a moment, it seemed like the end.

But then, in the distance, Lareth saw it—the shimmering barrier that Sam’s team had deployed around the village. It glowed faintly in the dark, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

"Get to the barrier!" Lareth shouted, his voice hoarse. "It’s our only chance!"

They ran, what was left of them, as fast as they could. The demons were right on their heels, their roars deafening, their claws slashing at the air. Lareth could feel his muscles burning, his legs threatening to give out beneath him, but he forced himself to keep going. He couldn’t stop. Not now.

The village was so close, but the demons were closer.

Just as Lareth thought the demons would overtake them, the barrier flared to life. The first demon that reached it was thrown back with a blinding flash of light, its body disintegrating before it could breach the protective shield. The others followed, crashing against the barrier in waves, only to be repelled again and again.

Lareth collapsed just inside the barrier, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Around him, the few surviving archers did the same, their faces pale and hollow with shock. They had barely made it. So many hadn’t.

The village square was eerily quiet as they regrouped, the survivors standing in small, shell-shocked groups. Lareth looked around, his heart heavy. He had lost so many good men and women. The barricade was barely standing, and the demons were still out there, pacing just beyond the barrier.

"We’re not done yet," Lareth muttered to himself, his hands shaking as he gripped his bow. "This is just the beginning."

Lareth stumbled into the village, barely able to keep himself upright. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs felt like they might give out at any moment. Behind him, what remained of his team followed in a staggered line, their faces pale with exhaustion and horror. The demons had taken so much—almost all of the archers, their barricades, their hope.

As he crossed the threshold of the barrier that Sam’s team had erected, he saw the scale of the devastation. Caross and Claire’s team had taken a brutal beating. Bodies lay strewn across the dirt road, their blood soaking into the earth, leaving crimson trails that led to the mangled remains of warriors who had been caught in the relentless assault. Lareth’s stomach churned as he recognized some of the faces—men and women he had shared drinks and stories with, their lives snuffed out in brutal, senseless violence.

Caross was kneeling over a fallen warrior, his hands slick with blood as he tried to close a deep wound. Claire stood nearby, her face a mask of rage and grief as she watched the last vestiges of their defense crumble. Their team had fought valiantly, but it hadn’t been enough. The traps they had set had slowed the demons, but not nearly enough to stop the tide.

Lareth staggered over to them, his body aching. "What happened?"

Claire shook her head, her jaw clenched so tight he could see the tension in her muscles. "We lost too many. The explosives weren’t enough. The demons were too strong, too fast."

Caross wiped the sweat from his brow, the blood staining his hands and arms. "They came in waves, overwhelming us before we could set up more traps. We did what we could, but it wasn’t enough."

Lareth felt a cold wave of despair wash over him. "We lost almost all of the archers," he said quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of the fallen. "They didn’t stand a chance."

Claire looked up, her eyes dark with a fury that seemed to consume her. "Then what’s left of us will have to do. We can’t let them take the village."

Lareth nodded, though it felt like a hollow gesture. They had so few left. The demons had torn through their forces like a scythe through wheat, and now they were left with the barest scraps of what had once been a formidable defense.

In the distance, Sam’s and Isonorai’s team seemed to be faring better, though only marginally. Lareth could see Sam standing near the center of the formation, his body practically glowing with the effort of keeping the barrier intact. His mana was nearly drained—Lareth could see the fatigue written in his posture, the way his knees wobbled slightly with each breath he took.

"Sam!" Lareth called out, his voice hoarse. He stumbled toward him, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a physical burden. "We need to regroup—Caross and Claire’s team, we’ve lost most of them."

Sam didn’t respond right away. His eyes were half-lidded, and he looked like he might collapse at any second. His face was pale, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as his breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

Isonorai, who stood nearby, turned to Lareth, her own face etched with concern. "Sam’s nearly out of mana," she said quietly. "He’s been pushing too hard."

Sam finally managed to glance over at Lareth, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. "I can hold it a little longer," he rasped, though it was clear from his tone that he didn’t have much left in him. His mana had dwindled dangerously low—Lareth could almost feel it, the way Sam’s magical energy seemed to flicker like a candle in a strong wind.

"How much longer can you keep this up?" Lareth asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

Sam clenched his teeth, forcing himself to remain upright. "Not much longer," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve got—" he glanced down at his trembling hands, as if trying to gauge his own strength—"maybe a few more minutes before I’m completely drained."

Lareth’s heart sank. A few more minutes wouldn’t be enough. The demons were relentless, and once the barrier failed, they would overrun the village in a matter of moments. They needed time—time to regroup, time to set up a proper defense, time that Sam couldn’t give them.

"We need to fall back," Isonorai said, her voice firm but not unkind. "We can’t hold the village with just the barrier. We have to find another way."

Lareth nodded, though he had no idea what that other way might be. Everything they had tried had failed. Their forces were decimated, their traps hadn’t worked, and now, with Sam on the verge of collapse, they were about to lose their only remaining line of defense.

He glanced at Sam again, his chest tightening at the sight of his friend struggling to stay conscious. Sam had given everything he had—more than that, even—and it still wasn’t enough.

"Sam, you have to rest," Lareth urged, stepping closer. "If you push yourself any harder, you’re going to—"

"I know," Sam cut him off, his voice strained. He forced a weak smile, though it did nothing to mask the exhaustion in his eyes. "I just… I just need a little more time."

But time wasn’t something they had.