The air grew heavier as the Banner of the Claw approached the collapsed Rift. Its jagged edges pulsed faintly with an unnatural, ominous light. Tendrils of dark mana snaked out from the abyss, twisting like searching fingers across the scorched earth. The oppressive energy emanating from the Rift was palpable, clinging to their skin and weighing on their cores.

Marie’s eyes narrowed as she studied the entrance, her fiery wings flexing slightly. “This feels different,” she muttered. “It’s darker and colder.”

Akasha stepped forward, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “This mana... it reeks of an otherworldly mana. Soketh is not of this world.”

“We’ve faced worse,” JD interjected, his tone steady. He adjusted his Hurricane Regalia, the faint swirl of wind around him offering a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere. “Can’t be worse than Eisanyr.”

Arlan glanced at his team, their expressions varying from grim determination to cautious resolve. “The plan holds. Marie, JD, I will lead the charge. Akasha, Lucius, Chrysta and Yuna cover the rear. Niren and Savage will anchor the flanks. Fiala, keep the group shielded. Stick together, and no overextending.”

Savage grunted, hefting his greataxe onto his shoulder. “No overextending? Damn.”

Arlan’s eyes flicked to Savage with a faint smirk. “Trust me, Savage. Without knowing what’s in store for us, overextending could prove fatal.”

Savage rolled his shoulders, his Hek-Jefah physique radiating strength as his greataxe gleamed faintly. “Fair point.”

“Good,” Niren said, adjusting his shield as holy light pulsed along its edge. “I don’t want to have to go to the High Heavens early to block every hit for you.”

The oppressive atmosphere intensified as the Banner pushed closer to the Rift’s gaping maw. Dark mana seeped from the abyss like a living entity, swirling ominously at their feet. The air itself seemed to hum with malice, vibrating with latent energy that set their cores on edge.

“Everyone, stay sharp,” Arlan commanded, his voice steady despite the foreboding energy. He held Starshadow at the ready, its mithril blade glowing faintly in defiance of the darkness.

Marie stepped closer to Arlan, her fiery wings casting flickering light across the jagged terrain. “Do you feel it too?” she asked, her tone quiet but intense. “Something’s watching us.”

“Not just watching,” Akasha said, her claws flexing. “It’s waiting. Soketh knows we’re here, and it wants us to come closer. That’s why there’s no dark fiends around here yet.”

Sophia’s voice echoed in Arlan’s mind. “Caution advised, my liege. Spatial distortions and strange mana densities detected ahead. Anticipate traps and environmental hazards. This is no longer an ordinary rift dungeon.”

“Understood,” Arlan muttered, gripping Starshadow tighter. “Stay together. Whatever happens, we move as one.”

As the oppressive air thickened around the collapsed Rift, Arlan’s gaze swept over the Banner of the Claw, which had formed a defensive perimeter near the Rift’s jagged edges.

The soldiers stood resolute, their shields interlocked and weapons gleaming faintly under the eerie, pulsating light. The faint hum of dark mana brushing against their cores was a grim reminder of the forces they faced.

Erin approached from the central line, his polished armor smeared with ichor from the earlier battle. His calm demeanor belied the urgency in his steps. Behind him, Edgar and Dimitri followed, their expressions resolute.

“General,” Erin began, his voice steady, “the defensive cordon is established around the Rift. The Banner of the Claw is holding the perimeter with overlapping formations. No dark fiends have breached so far, but they’ll test us soon. Rangers have deployed here to fire volleys while the Shock Troopers will serve as the quick reaction force. Edgar’s Storm Riders will deal with any large enemy concentrations.”

Arlan nodded. “How long can you hold?”

“Long enough,” Erin replied firmly. “We’ve planted defensive spikes along the choke points, and the kill zones are primed.”

Dimitri stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the oppressive air. “We’ve also set extra mines around the approach to the Rift, General. If those bastards try to swarm us, we’ll thin them out before they reach the lines.”

“Good,” Arlan said. His gaze shifted to Edgar, who was inspecting his warhorse nearby, the Storm Riders’ mounts stamping the ground impatiently. “And you, Edgar?”

“Storm Riders are mounted and ready,” Edgar reported. “We’ll charge through any large concentrations.”

Marie joined the conversation, her fiery wings faded as she deactivated her [Hellborn] form. “The dark fiends aren’t throwing themselves at us yet,” she said. “They’re holding back, waiting for us to enter the Iron Grotto...”

Arlan glanced toward the Rift, its gaping maw exuding a menacing pulse that seemed to resonate with malicious intent. “They’re waiting for us to enter so they can fight the Banner of the Claw alone.”

“Aye, General,” Erin confirmed. “But that’s why the Banner of the Claw will remain here to hold the line. No dark fiends will breach our line.”

Arlan’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry but there’s no other way. Without me here, my Monarch’s Regalia will no longer—”

“We’ll handle it,” Dimitri interrupted, his tone unwavering. “The Banner knows its duty. We won’t let anything through.”

Edgar’s tone was calm but firm. “You won’t have to worry about reinforcements. We got this.”

Arlan let the gravity of their words settle for a moment. He looked at each of his officers, seeing not just loyalty but an unyielding determination in their eyes. Finally, he nodded.

“Then prepare yourselves, the strike team is entering now.” His voice carried an air of finality as he turned to address the assembled troops. “Listen closely! You will fight on your own here… No one will come to our rescue. I will now venture into the Iron Grotto with the strike team to face Soketh. If any dark fiends come flooding back into the Rift, we will lose inside. But I trust in your strength, your training, and your resolve to hold this ground, and let nothing pass!”

A resounding cheer erupted from the soldiers, their weapons raised in defiance of the darkness.

Erin placed a hand on his sword hilt. “We’ll make sure no dark fiend crosses this line, General. Live forever.”

Dimitri’s halberd rested against his shoulder as he grinned. “And if they try, well... let’s just say they’ll have to first get through the mines.”

Arlan turned to his strike team, their expressions resolute. “Let’s go.”

Marie’s flames flared brighter as she grinned. “Finally, some fun.”

“We’ve come a long way from snag-a-scarf haven’t we?” JD adjusted his swords with a faint smirk.

Niren and Savage exchanged glances before nodding. “Let’s make it count,” Niren said, his holy aura pulsing faintly.

Arlan and his team ventured toward the Iron Grotto with their backs towards Erin, Dimitri, Edgar and the rest of the Banner of the Claw. A faint smile crossed Arlan as he turned his head for one last look at his men.

“Stay alive, Erin. I know you’ll get through this.”

As the strike team ventured into the depths of the Rift, the soldiers of the Banner of the Claw formed tighter ranks, their resolve unwavering. Erin chuckled and grinned as he turned his head to see Arlan and the strike team disappear into the Iron Grotto.

Erin thought to himself as if he spoke to his friend, “Kill that son of a bitch, Arlan.”

The battle outside was far from over, and the darkness within promised an even greater challenge. But the fate of the Auron—and perhaps Midland—now rested in the hands of Arlan and his elite strike team.

North of the Rift, Katalina Galdo’s banner braced against the unrelenting tide of dark fiends. Positioned on the high ground, her mages and heavy infantry had carved devastating kill zones, but the swarm showed no signs of abating. Their grotesque forms climbed over their fallen, pushing closer with each passing moment.

Katalina stood atop a jagged outcropping, her emerald cloak whipping in the wind as her adjutant relayed updates. “Milady, the fiends have breached the outer kill zone. The second line of infantry is holding, but we’ve lost at least five-hundred heavy infantry…”

“Stay calm,” Katalina ordered, her voice sharp and unwavering. “Signal reserves to reinforce the second line and have the first line retreat.”

The adjutant saluted and hurried off as Katalina’s eyes scanned the battlefield. The air shimmered with latent mana, and the screams of dying soldiers intermingled with the guttural cries of the fiends. Her forces were disciplined, but even the most steadfast defenses had their limits.

“Archers, fire!” Katalina commanded, raising her staff. A barrage of arrows rained down from the ridges, striking the advancing fiends with deadly precision. Moments later, the mages unleashed a coordinated wave of fire and lightning, consuming dozens of enemies in searing bursts of magic.

A sudden, bone-rattling roar cut through the chaos. From the center of the horde, a lesser Naraka Lord emerged, its grotesque form towering above the swarm. Its jagged, armored carapace glinted with dark mana as it wielded an oversized mace that left craters in its wake.

“By the gods…” one of her lieutenants murmured.

“As the Grand Marshal said, we can kill it!” Katalina snapped. “Focus fire on its legs. Bring it down!”

The mages and archers adjusted their aim, hurling explosive spells and arrows at the Naraka Lord. Bolts of lightning crackled against its armored hide, while searing flames licked at its limbs. The monster staggered but roared again, its gargantuan mace crashing into the ground and sending shockwaves through the ranks. Killing an entire squad of heavy infantry, reducing them into a pool of blood and limbs.

Katalina raised her staff, her voice cutting through the chaos. “[Arcane Torrent]!” A vortex of arcane energy erupted from her position, striking the Naraka Lord directly. The attack left deep scorch marks across its armor, but the creature pressed forward undeterred.

The fiend barreled into her front lines, its mace swinging in devastating arcs. Soldiers were flung aside like ragdolls, their screams cut short as the weapon crushed shields and bodies alike. At least thirty heavy infantry fell under its relentless assault, their steel reinforced tower shields shattering like glass.

Katalina gritted her teeth, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. “Heavy infantry, hold the line! Mages, with me!” She leaped down from her vantage point, landing amidst her troops. Her staff pulsed with mana as she launched a barrage of [Mana Bolts], each one striking the Naraka Lord with pinpoint accuracy.

Her heavy infantry regrouped, surging forward to pin the fiend in place. Shields locked together as spears jabbed at the creature’s vulnerable joints, but its sheer strength made every moment a desperate gamble.

The Naraka Lord roared again, raising its mace for a killing blow. Before it could strike, Katalina cast [Arcane Tribunal], spectral ancient books conjured around the lesser Naraka Lord and struck repeatedly with arcs of Arcane mana. A severed arm crashed to the ground, black ichor spraying across the battlefield.

In response to the attack, the lesser Naraka Lord held a purple vortex of dark mana in its remaining arm and threw it at twenty mages who were all sucked into the abyss and killed instantly.

“Now!” she shouted. “Focus on the core!”

Her remaining thirty mages unleashed a devastating barrage of second-tier fire and lightning spells, converging on the Naraka Lord’s exposed chest. The fiend’s roars turned to guttural cries as its carapace cracked and splintered under the assault.

Katalina used all of her mana for one final fourth-tier [Arcane Torrent]. She was rewarded with a piercing scream from the Naraka Lord. It had collapsed, its body disintegrating into ash. The battlefield fell momentarily silent as Katalina surveyed the carnage around her. Dark fiends were still pushing into their position.

Her adjutant approached, blood staining his armor. “Milady… we’ve held, but the losses…”

“I know,” Katalina said quietly, her grip tightening on her staff. “But we don’t have the luxury to mourn. Signal the archers and remaining mages. We need to return to our vantage points before the next wave.”

As her forces regrouped, the unrelenting swarm of dark fiends continued to press against Midland’s lines.

South of Katalina’s embattled position, closer to the Royal Army’s right flank, Yozac Grayshaper led a ragtag force of 500 adventurers against the unrelenting tide of dark fiends.

The adventurers were a diverse assembly of fantasy’s finest: knights with gleaming shields, rangers firing precision arrows, mages conjuring deadly spells, and barbarians wielding heavy weapons with reckless fury.

“Keep yer guts in yer bellies and yer feet planted!” Yozac bellowed, his voice carrying over the clash of steel and guttural roars of the fiends.

His broad frame was covered in thick dwarven steel plate armor etched with runic symbols, glowing faintly as his mana surged through them. In his hands, dual hammers pulsed with earthen magic, each strike carving through the enemy like a miner through stone.

The adventurers fought fiercely, but the sheer number of fiends was overwhelming. The grotesque creatures came in endless waves, their claws and fangs glinting in the eerie light of the Rift’s mana.

A rogue darted past Yozac, blades flashing as she struck at a fiend’s exposed flank. “Master Yozac!” she called, her breath labored. “They’re breaking through the center!”

Yozac turned sharply, his piercing eyes catching the shifting tide of the battle. The adventurers’ center line, anchored by knights and clerics, was buckling under the weight of the swarm. Dark fiends surged through the gap, their claws tearing at exposed flesh.

“Knights! Form ranks! Clerics, reinforce them with barriers!” Yozac barked, his deep voice resonating with command. He charged toward the breach, his hammers leaving a trail of pulverized fiends in his wake.

As he reached the front, he slammed both hammers into the ground. “[Stone Bastion]!” The earth heaved and cracked, massive stone walls erupting to seal the breach temporarily. The fiends clawed at the barriers, but it bought the adventurers precious seconds to regroup.

“Rogues and rangers!” Yozac shouted. “Clear out the damned crawlers on top! Mages, bombard the largest groups, don’t be wasting yer fawkin’ mana!”

Rangers launched volleys of arrows, picking off the creatures as they attempted to breach the defenses. Mages prepared powerful elemental spells—fire, lightning, and ice. Yozac gritted his teeth, his hammers glowing brighter as he infused them with more mana.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“Yer fightin’ with Yozac Grayshaper now,” he growled under his breath. “We don’t fall to filth like this.”

The flanking fiends made their move, pressing against the adventurers’ right side where lancers and barbarians held the line. Yozac’s sharp eyes caught the maneuver immediately.

“Barbarians, hold! Lancers, step in and brace!” Yozac roared, sprinting toward the flank. With a powerful leap, he landed amidst the fiends, his hammers crashing down with devastating force. “[Earthen Rupture]!”

The ground erupted beneath the fiends, jagged spikes impaling dozens in an instant. Yozac swung his hammers in wide arcs, each strike accompanied by the dull rumble of his earth magic.

Behind him, a knight stumbled, her shield dented and her helmet askew. “Master Yozac! We’ve lost around fifty of us!”

“And their sacrifice will be in vain if we don’t hold! So we’re nawt ganna retreat! We’ll hold the line as long as it bloody takes!” Yozac thundered, shattering a fiend’s head with a single blow. “Clerics, heal the wounded! Knights, with me and lock yer shields! Lancers, keep stabbin’ till yer arms fall off!”

The adventurers rallied under his command, their resolve hardening as Yozac stood unyielding against the onslaught. But even as they pushed back the fiends, the cost was mounting. Rangers fell from their perches, their bodies torn apart by winged horrors. Clerics were dragged down by fiends that had broken through the lines.

A baphomet, larger than the rest, barreled toward Yozac, its claws glowing with dark energy. The dwarf squared his stance, his hammers crackling with raw mana.

“Bring yer fawkin’ nasty ass here!” Yozac roared, meeting the beast head-on.

The fiend’s claws clashed against his hammers, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Yozac grunted, his boots digging into the blood-soaked earth as he absorbed the impact. With a roar, he twisted his hammers upward, shattering the fiend’s claws before driving both weapons into its chest.

“[Titanstrike]!” Yozac bellowed. A massive surge of mana erupted from his hammers, sending the fiend flying backward and collapsing into a heap of ichor and shattered bones. “Something the Grand Marshal taught me.”

The adventurers cheered as the massive creature fell, but Yozac didn’t let up. “Keep yer eyes sharp! More are comin’!”

He turned back toward the center, where the fiends were regrouping for another push. The ground beneath him trembled—not from his magic, but from the sheer weight of the enemy force.

“Rangers, mages, get ready!” Yozac shouted, his hammers glowing brighter. “This next wave’s gonna be rough.”

The adventurers braced themselves, their weapons raised and their resolve steeled. Around them, the dark fiends surged forward once more, their guttural roars echoing through the battlefield.

Yozac adjusted his stance, his hammers at the ready. “Aye, let’s see how many o’ you bastards we can send back to the abyss.”

The next wave crashed into their lines like a black tide, and Yozac charged forward, leading his adventurers into the fray. The battle for the southern pass raged on, every moment a desperate struggle to hold the line.

South of Yozac Grayshaper’s embattled adventurers and beyond the Royal Army, Duke Frank Lansley’s crimson and gold banners stood defiantly against the surging dark fiends. His disciplined pikemen and mounted knights formed the backbone of Midland’s southern defense, their lines holding firm despite the relentless assault.

Frank rode along the rear ranks astride his towering destrier, clad in ornate adamantium plate armor that gleamed in the dim light of the battlefield. His sharp eyes swept over his forces, noting every gap and every wavering soldier.

“Steady your longspears!” he bellowed, his commanding voice cutting through the cacophony. “Let them come and break themselves upon our resolve!”

The soldiers obeyed, their pikes bristling like a deadly forest as the next wave of fiends hurled themselves forward. Black ichor splattered across the ground as the disciplined pikemen drove their weapons into the grotesque creatures, holding the line against the tide.

Frank’s destrier snorted, pawing at the ground as the Duke turned his attention to a growing disturbance in the enemy ranks. A bone-rattling roar echoed across the battlefield as a lesser Naraka Lord emerged, its towering, grotesque form clad in spiked armor that seemed to pulsate with dark mana. It wielded a massive flail, the spiked ball at the end of its chain swinging in wide arcs and crushing anything in its path.

The fiend roared again, its red eyes glowing with malice as it pointed the flail toward Frank’s line. The dark horde rallied behind their monstrous leader, pressing forward with renewed ferocity.

“Your Grace!” one of his captains shouted, galloping up beside him. “That thing will break us!”

Frank’s expression hardened. “Not while I still draw breath.”

He urged his destrier forward, galloping toward the advancing Naraka Lord. “Hold the line! This beast is mine!”

The pikemen cheered, their confidence bolstered by their Duke’s fearless charge. Frank closed the distance, his ornate lance crackling with golden mana. With a precise thrust, he aimed for the Naraka Lord’s chest, but the fiend’s flail swung upward, deflecting the blow with a deafening clang.

The impact knocked Frank from his saddle, and he rolled to his feet with practiced agility, drawing his mithril longsword in one smooth motion. The Naraka Lord loomed over him, its flail crashing down with devastating force.

Duke Frank dodged, the ground shattering where the weapon struck. His blade flashed, cutting into the fiend’s thigh. Black ichor sprayed, but the creature barely seemed to notice.

The Duke’s movements were precise, his strikes aimed at the Naraka Lord’s joints and exposed flesh. Yet for every wound he inflicted, the fiend countered with bone-crushing swings of its flail, forcing Frank to retreat.

His breathing grew labored as the battle wore on. Despite his skill and strength, the Naraka Lord’s unrelenting power was wearing him down.

In a desperate moment, Frank reached into a hidden compartment in his gauntlet, retrieving a simple silver ring inscribed with glowing runes. The [Band of the Krea].

He hesitated for only a moment before slipping it onto his finger. A surge of energy coursed through his body, the artifact flooding him with an unlimited well of essence. His fifth-tier red-core now swelled.

The Naraka Lord roared in defiance, swinging its flail in a wide arc. Frank met the attack head-on, his blade glowing with overwhelming power. The two clashed with a thunderous impact, the ground shaking beneath them.

Each strike Frank delivered came faster and harder, his movements fueled by the limitless essence granted by the [Band of the Krea]. His blade sliced through the Naraka Lord’s armor, carving deep wounds into its grotesque flesh.

With a final, triumphant roar, Frank drove his sword through the fiend’s chest, piercing its dark core. The Naraka Lord let out a guttural scream, its body convulsing before collapsing into a heap of ash and shattered armor.

Frank staggered back, his sword trembling in his grasp. The fountain of essence within his core faded as the [Band of the Krea] crumbled into dust, its power spent.

Behind him, his forces rallied, cheering as their leader stood victorious. Yet the cost of the battle was clear. Hundreds of his soldiers lay dead or dying, and the fiends continued to press against their diminished ranks.

Frank took a deep breath, his gaze steady despite his exhaustion. “Reform the line!” he commanded. “Prepare for the next wave!”

His captains scrambled to obey, the southern front holding for now. But the Duke knew that this victory had come at a great price. “Arlan, you better kill Soketh before all of us out here die.”

At the center of the Royal Army’s main formation, Prime Minister Dink Rorschach stood firm, his mithril greatsword resting against his shoulder. The sword’s flawless edge gleamed faintly in the eerie light of the Rift, its length carved with intricate runes that pulsed with arcane energy. Despite the chaos around him, Dink’s presence exuded calm authority.

“Shields up!” he roared, his deep voice carrying over the clash of steel and guttural roars of the fiends. “Spears forward! No gaps!”

The soldiers obeyed, their shields interlocking in disciplined ranks while the spearmen braced against the incoming tide. Dark fiends hurled themselves at the line, their claws scraping against steel as pikes drove into their grotesque forms.

Dink stood just behind the shield wall, scanning the battlefield with a practiced eye. “Mages! Focus on the flanks! Don’t waste your spells on scattered targets!”

The Royal Army’s battalion of battlemages responded with precision, unleashing bolts of fire and lightning into the swarms pressing against the army’s edges. Explosions rocked the battlefield, and arcs of electricity leapt between the creatures, leaving scorched bodies in their wake.

But the center line began to falter under the sheer weight of the horde. A section of the shield wall buckled as fiends tore through the ranks, dragging soldiers screaming into the chaos.

“Hold the line!” Dink bellowed, stepping forward. He raised his greatsword in both hands, its runes glowing brightly as he swung it in a wide arc. “[Crescent Cleave]!”

A shimmering wave of essence followed the blade’s path, cutting through the advancing fiends like a scythe through wheat. Black ichor sprayed across the ground as the creatures fell, their momentum briefly halted.

The soldiers rallied behind him, reforming their ranks as Dink pushed forward. His greatsword carved through the fiends with brutal efficiency, each swing a perfect balance of strength and precision.

“Stay together!” he shouted, his voice a steadying force amid the chaos. “We hold this line!”

A deafening roar cut through the battlefield as a towering lesser Naraka Lord emerged from the swarm. Its twisted form was encased in jagged black armor, and it wielded a massive scythe that dripped with dark energy.

The soldiers nearest to the creature hesitated, their courage wavering as it approached.

Dink’s sharp gaze locked onto the fiend. “Fall back to the second line!” he ordered. “I’ll handle this one!”

The troops obeyed, retreating in an orderly fashion as the Naraka Lord closed in. Dink stepped forward to meet it, gripping his greatsword tightly.

The fiend swung its scythe in a wide arc, aiming to cleave him in two. Dink sidestepped the attack with practiced agility, his blade flashing as he struck at the creature’s exposed side. The impact sent a burst of sparks flying, and black ichor seeped from the wound.

The Naraka Lord roared, spinning its scythe with terrifying speed. Dink raised his sword to block, the force of the blow reverberating through his arms as he dug his heels into the blood-soaked ground.

“You’re a fucking strong one,” Dink muttered, his breath steady despite the strain. “But I can’t lose to you!”

He pressed the advantage, his greatsword moving in precise, calculated strikes. Each swing aimed for the fiend’s joints and exposed flesh, carving deep gashes into its armored form. But for every wound he inflicted, the Naraka Lord countered with crushing blows of its scythe, forcing Dink to constantly stay on the move.

Sweat dripped down his face as the duel wore on. Despite his skill, the fiend’s relentless power was beginning to wear him down.

In a desperate gamble, Dink feinted a retreat, luring the Naraka Lord into overextending. As the fiend’s scythe swung low, Dink surged forward, bringing his greatsword down in a devastating overhead slash, he had used [Titanstrike].

The blade shattered the scythe’s haft, splitting it in two. The Naraka Lord reeled back, momentarily disarmed, but it quickly lashed out with its claws, catching Dink across the chest.

He staggered, blood staining his armor as pain lanced through his body. But he refused to fall. Tightening his grip on the greatsword, he steadied himself for the final blow.

The Naraka Lord roared and charged, its remaining arm raised for a killing strike. Dink let out a battle cry, his blade glowing brightly as he channeled the last of his strength.

With a powerful swing, he drove the greatsword straight through the fiend’s chest, the runes on the blade flaring as they pierced the creature’s dark core. The Naraka Lord let out a guttural scream, its body convulsing before collapsing into a heap of ash and shattered armor.

Dink fell to one knee, his breath ragged as he leaned on his sword for support. Around him, the soldiers stared in stunned silence before erupting into cheers. They ran to surround him as two soldiers helped him fall back.

But the Prime Minister barely acknowledged them. His gaze swept across the battlefield, taking in the sight of thousands of dead soldiers and the unrelenting swarm of fiends.

“We’ve lost too many,” Dink muttered, forcing himself to stand. “Casualty report.”

“Sir, at least six-thousand dead and two-thousand wounded that we managed to pull back.” answered one of the officers who was helping him retreat back to the second line.

Looking up and around at the Royal Army, his voice rang out over the battlefield. “Reform the lines! We hold this ground, no matter the cost!”

The Royal Army rallied forth, their resolve renewed even as the darkness pressed closer. For now, the line held—but Dink was mortally wounded.

Entry into the Iron Grotto was eerily silent. The oppressive weight of the dark mana hung over the strike team. Every step echoed faintly against the jagged walls, the sound swallowed quickly by the suffocating void ahead.

Marie glanced around, “This isn’t what I expected,” she murmured, her voice low. “I thought there’d be dark fiends jumping out at us the second we stepped inside.”

Akasha’s crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. “They’re here,” she said, her tone sharp and certain. “They’re just waiting. Watching.”

Frej knelt near a jagged stone, brushing her hand across its surface. “Feels like we’re being funneled,” she said quietly. “Guided, even.”

Yuna gripped her staff tightly, the faint glow of its runes barely cutting through the darkness. “This place is unnatural,” she muttered. “I can’t sense the mana flows properly. It’s like they’re twisted.”

Arlan walked at the head of the group, Starshadow resting lightly in his hand. His eyes scanned every shadow, every distortion in the air. “It wasn’t like this before,” he said, breaking the tension.

The group turned to him, curiosity mingled with unease.

“What do you mean?” JD asked, his twin mithril swords shimmering faintly in the low light.

Arlan’s voice was steady, but there was a weight to his words. “The last time I entered the Iron Grotto, it was with the Moon Striders… And the place was much smaller. It was still dangerous, yes, but at least it was of this world. Now…” He gestured around, his expression darkening. “It feels warped. As if Soketh has taken it and reshaped it into something entirely his own.”

Lucius adjusted his artifact goggles, scanning the area with a faint hum of his arcane suit. “It’s not just a feeling. The dark mana here is behaving like a living organism, reacting to our presence.”

Akasha’s claws flexed. “Then we shouldn’t linger. Whatever Soketh’s done, it’s to his advantage.”

Niren stepped closer, his shield glowing faintly with holy light. “And yet, he hasn’t attacked us yet. He’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Marie added, glancing at Arlan.

Arlan met her gaze briefly but didn’t respond. Instead, he gestured for the team to move forward. “Stay close. Eyes on every angle. If this place has been reshaped, we’re walking into the unknown.”

The group pressed on, the path narrowing before opening into a vast and open plain. The sight stopped them in their tracks.

A soft purple hue bathed the plain, casting a surreal glow over the landscape. The jagged rocks gave way to rolling terrain, and the cavern above them had transformed into a dark sky filled with stars that shimmered like distant flames.

“This…” Yuna whispered, her voice filled with awe. “This isn’t a cave anymore.”

“It’s like the dungeon we fought the Rakari Mercs in,” JD said, his grip tightening on his swords. “But darker. More malevolent.”

“It’s a perversion of it,” Lucius added. “The stars aren’t just light. They’re emitting dark mana. It’s artificial.”

In the distance, a dark, jagged castle loomed, its twisted spires piercing the false sky like fangs. The structure radiated an aura of malevolence, the very sight of it setting the group on edge.

“That,” Akasha said, her voice cold, “has to be where Soketh is waiting.”

Arlan took a deep breath, his expression unreadable. But then, a voice echoed in his mind, cold and dripping with malice.

“Come to me, Ashra. Our long awaited battle has come.”

He froze for a moment, his hand tightening around Starshadow. “Soketh,” he muttered.

“Oh how I desire to savor the taste of our fight again, Ashra. I even let you regain your strength.”

“What? Arlan?” Marie asked sharply, noticing Arlan whisper to himself.

“He’s calling me,” Arlan said. His gaze remained locked on the distant castle. “He knows we’re here…”

“Now… Before we have our fight, I must see to it that your companions are worthy of my domain.”

“PREPARE FOR BATTLE! NOW!” yelled Arlan without hesitation.

Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath them trembled, a low, guttural vibration echoing through the open plain. A monstrous shadow stretched across the glowing purple terrain, growing larger with each second. Slowly, a massive form drifted out of the darkness.

The creature was a floating nightmare of flesh, a bloated, spherical mass covered in ridges and oozing lesions. Its surface glistened like oil under torchlight, wet and pulsing as though it were alive. At its center, a single, enormous eye glowed with an ominous, sickly yellow light, veins webbing across its surface like cracks in tainted glass.

Around its grotesque body sprouted a forest of writhing stalks, each ending in a smaller, swiveling eye. These orbs gleamed with unnatural energy, darting in every direction as they locked onto the strike team with unerring precision. The air crackled around the creature as beams of elemental and arcane power flickered at the tips of the smaller eyes, ready to strike.

Its gaping maw stretched impossibly wide, jagged teeth jutting outward at unnatural angles. A foul, choking breath emanated from its maw, carrying the stench of decay and corruption. As it floated closer, tendrils of dark mana radiated from its form, coiling toward the team like probing fingers.

“By Numens…” Yuna whispered, taking a step back as the abomination loomed over them, its massive central eye narrowing with predatory intent.

“My liege! That dark fiend is a Beholder! Its strength is equivalent to a seventh-tier red-core” interjected Sophia.

“That thing…” Arlan yelled while raising Starshadow. “It’s a Beholder.”

“EXCUSE ME BUT DID I HEAR YOU SAY IT’S A BEHOLDER?!” Yuna’s voice wavered, gripping her staff tighter.

Chrysta’s frost-covered hands trembled slightly, her usually calm demeanor cracking. “Pre-cataclysm scriptures mention them. They can warp reality with their eyes alone. No one in Midland has ever seen one and lived to tell the tale.”

“I’ve heard similar stories too,” Frej muttered, her spear glowing faintly as she tightened her stance. “They called it a divine punishment sent to destroy kingdoms.”

“Stories, legends, scriptures...” Savage growled, hefting his greataxe onto his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. That bastard’s here now, and it bleeds like anything else.”

Lucius adjusted his artifact goggles, his voice grim. “If those tales are even half-true... Stay sharp, everyone.”

Marie’s fiery wings flared to life from activating [Hellborn], casting sharp shadows against the purple-lit plains. “Then we’d better make sure it doesn’t live long enough to prove those legends true.”

“This is the first thing that damned Soketh throws at us?!” JD snapped, his tone laced with frustration. “Numens, what else could there fucking be?!”

But before anyone could answer, the ground around them erupted as a flood of dark fiends poured onto the plain.

Chrysta frustratingly smacked JD on the back of his head, “You had to ask?”

“Over a thousand dark fiends and counting!” added Sophia.

JD’s back was now pressed against Arlan’s with his mithril blades drawn and asked, “Orders?”

“Formation Square B!” Arlan barked.

The team fell into a square formation, their weapons drawn and spells readied.

“Soketh isn’t going to make this easy.” stated Arlan with resolve, “We’ll have to fight for every inch.”