The town square erupted into chaos as the undead forces surged forward, an unrelenting tide of rotting flesh and clattering bones. The acrid stench of decay mixed with the iron tang of fresh blood, and the screams of the wounded merged with the unholy wails of the ghouls. The air pulsed with the raw tension of desperation and defiance.

Leona awoke to the thunderous clash of steel and the distant cries of battle. "Fuck!" she spat, bolting upright. Heart hammering, she threw off her blanket and reached for her sword. Outside the makeshift infirmary, the night was alive with horror—shadows twisting as ghouls swarmed the town like a plague. She barely had time to don her armor before sprinting into the chaos.

Clad in gleaming plate, she charged into the fray, shield raised just as a ghoul lunged. The impact rattled her bones, but she held firm, twisting to bring her sword down in a brutal arc. The creature shattered, bone fragments scattering like morbid confetti. Another came from the side, claws bared, but she caught it with her shield and sent it sprawling, driving her blade through its skull before it could rise again.

Nearby, Lyra stood amid the swirling carnage, her staff gripped tightly in both hands. A whisper of incantations left her lips, and arcane energy crackled at her fingertips. "Ignis Torrent!" she intoned, her voice a sharp command. A searing wave of blue fire surged forward, incinerating a dozen undead in an instant. The air shimmered with heat, the remains of her enemies smoldering at her feet.

Nyx moved with an almost supernatural grace beside her, celestial wings unfurled, glowing like the dying embers of a star. Dark energy pulsed at her fingertips, coalescing into an obsidian vortex that she unleashed upon a cluster of approaching ghouls. They crumbled to dust in an instant, their screams swallowed by the void.

The townsfolk, though untrained, refused to surrender. Blacksmiths swung their hammers with brutal efficiency, farmers wielded pitchforks and scythes as if reaping a harvest of death. Healers, their faces pale with exhaustion, darted between the fighters, mending wounds and whispering protective spells to keep their comrades from succumbing to the abyss.

At the outskirts of the battlefield, Anya Blackstark and her squad observed from their camp, the dying light of their fires casting flickering shadows over their direhound mechs. One of the hulking machines lay in disrepair, its leg crippled from a previous skirmish. Nissa, Anya’s second-in-command, turned to her, eyes alight with a mix of concern and admiration. “Captain, should we deploy?”

Anya narrowed her eyes, taking in the chaos. Visibility was poor, the battlefield too tightly packed. A misstep from their mechs could crush ally and enemy alike. She shook her head. “No mechs. We fight on foot.”

Nissa hesitated, then nodded, adjusting her glasses with a gloved hand. “Understood. I’ll coordinate our movements. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Anya smirked, slinging her luminite rifle over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, the squadron surged forward, engaging the undead in brutal, unarmored combat. Anya fired her rifle with ruthless precision, each shot a brilliant streak of lightning energy that blasted through rotting flesh. When the enemy got too close, she drew her twin short swords, slicing through ghouls with fluid, merciless efficiency. The rest of her squad fought like demons, a whirlwind of steel and gunfire cutting down the relentless undead.

Leona, spotting them in action, felt a surge of hope. She bellowed to the militia, rallying them. “Hold the line! Keep them from the healers!” She barely had time to raise her shield before an undead knight’s mace crashed into it, the impact sending tremors through her arm. Gritting her teeth, she shoved back, creating an opening.

Lyra seized the moment. She slammed her staff into the ground. "Lux Ruina!" The incantation rang out like a clarion call. A golden explosion of light erupted outward, vaporizing the encroaching undead. The aftershock left only smoldering embers where the ghouls had once stood.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then, the last of the creatures fell, and the townsfolk let out a ragged, victorious cheer. But the relief was short-lived.

A bloodcurdling roar split the air.

From the shadows, the first undead manticore emerged. Its skeletal wings beat against the wind, rotting flesh hanging from its monstrous frame. A second, then a third followed, their hollow eyes burning with unnatural hunger.

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Wulfric and Garrett fought back-to-back in their camp, the night alive with the snarls of ghouls. Wulfric swung his axe-tipped halberd in wide, brutal arcs, cleaving through undead with each devastating strike. His voice rose in a guttural chant.

“Jörð brenn,

aska risa

Ignis Terra!”

The ground beneath his enemies cracked open, molten fire erupting to consume them.

Garrett, moving with blinding speed, deflected a clawed swipe with a barrier before lunging forward, his polearm a blur of motion. He spun, striking with a savage elegance, his enhanced strength turning every blow into a death sentence.

“Barrier transfer!” he barked, hurling a shimmering shield toward Wulfric just in time to absorb a manticore’s venomous tail strike.

“Good fucking timing, kid!” Wulfric growled, driving his halberd through the beast’s skull before wrenching it free in a spray of putrid gore.

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Garrett hesitated for a breath, then focused, remembering Lyra’s frost spell. The Azeroth Drive hummed against his chest as he extended his hand. “Glacialis Lancea!” A spear of ice materialized, colder than death, and he hurled it with all his might. The spell struck true, impaling a ghoul mid-charge, freezing it solid before it shattered.

They stood among the carnage, breath heaving. Wulfric wiped his blade clean on a fallen ghoul’s tattered cloak. “We head for the town.”

Garrett nodded. “Shit… yeah. If this is an organized attack, they’ll need all the help they can get.”

Together, they sprinted toward the chaos, toward fate unknown.

The ghouls swarmed like a flood, their shrieks reverberating through the shattered town square. The defenders, outnumbered and exhausted, staggered back toward the town hall, their strength waning beneath the relentless onslaught.

Leona’s boots scraped against blood-slicked cobblestone as she parried a skeletal knight’s strike. “Fall back! Don’t break formation!” she bellowed, her voice hoarse from shouting. A manticore’s shadow loomed over her, its skeletal wings blotting out the moon. She barely had time to react before a tail lanced down—only to be intercepted by a streak of silver.

Nyx, her celestial wings trailing embers, plunged into the beast, obsidian magic coiling around her hands. She tore at it with the fury of a vengeful god, her dark radiance illuminating the battlefield.

Anya and her squad fought valiantly, but the sheer number of enemies overwhelmed them. A manticore’s venomous barb slashed through Anya’s side, sending her crashing to the ground. Blood seeped into the dirt as Nissa rushed to her, hands glowing with the soft shimmer of healing magic. “Stay with me, Captain.”

The battle turned grim. The walls of the town hall stood just ahead, but they might as well have been miles away. Every inch of ground was paid for in flesh.

Then, the ground shook.

A low, thunderous boom echoed through the battlefield.

A single figure strode through the carnage, each step accompanied by the heavy clank of steel. Cedric of Elderwynd, the ealdorman of the shire, loomed like a titan among men.

The giant of a man hoisted his warhammer over his shoulder, its head nearly as large as a man’s torso. His killing intent crashed over the combatants like a tidal wave. Even the ghouls hesitated.

Leona’s breath hitched. She had felt battle auras before, but Cedric’s was suffocating. He was not merely a blacksmith; he was a force of nature.

With a roar that sent the nearest undead staggering back, he swung his hammer in a colossal arc. Bone and rotting flesh exploded on impact. His warhammer left trails of flame in its wake, igniting every ghoul it touched. He twisted, hurling the weapon like a meteor. It arced through the air, shattering a manticore’s skull before returning to his grasp as if drawn by an unseen tether.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” he bellowed, eyes burning with battle-lust.

His relentless assault reignited the defenders’ morale. Farmers, blacksmiths, and adventurers alike rallied behind his might, pressing the undead back with renewed vigor.

But just as hope flickered, the air grew cold.

From the veil of darkness, an armored figure emerged, mounted atop a monstrous warbison clad in spiked barding. His longsword gleamed in the moonlight as he rode through the defenders like a wraith, striking with surgical precision. He cut down adventurers with ease, their bodies crumpling before they could react. Then, with a single thrust, he impaled Anya’s shoulder, sending her sprawling.

A sick silence fell as the warrior’s visor turned toward Lyra.

He spurred his warbison forward, blade poised to strike. Lyra, drained from spellcasting, barely had time to react. The sword fell—

A shimmering barrier erupted before her.

Leona’s magic flared at the last second, intercepting the blow. The sheer force sent her skidding back, but she gritted her teeth and held the line. When the dust settled, Lyra was still standing—dazed but unharmed.

Nyx darted to her side, licking her face, her celestial eyes filled with worry. Lyra groaned. “I’m alright… just a little dazed.”

The sight of Lyra injured—even slightly—snapped something inside Cedric. His warhammer crackled with fire, heat rippling from his body in waves.

“You dare lay a hand on my daughter?” His voice was not a roar, but a guttural promise of death.

The armored figure barely had time to react before Cedric launched himself forward. He moved with terrifying speed, warhammer colliding with the warbison’s skull. Bone shattered. The beast crumpled, its rider flung from the saddle.

The knight’s blade met Cedric’s warhammer in a thunderous clash, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the village. Cobblestones shattered, windows burst, and the very air seemed to tremble under the force of their blows. Cedric’s aura burned brighter with each strike, his bloodlust manifesting as a fiery halo that consumed the space around him. His eyes glowed like embers, his movements a blur of flame and steel.

Leona watched from a distance, her hands steady as she tended to Lyra’s injuries with a healing potion. The young woman winced as the liquid seeped into her wounds, but her eyes never left her father. “He’s… he’s going to kill himself,” Lyra whispered, her voice trembling.

Leona nodded grimly. “Battle Auras are like spells turned inward. They fortify the body, enhance strength, and create barriers. But they demand a price. The more he pushes, the more it consumes him. If he doesn’t finish this soon…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Lyra understood. Her father was burning himself alive from the inside.

The knight, seemingly unfazed by Cedric’s onslaught, stepped back, his longsword held in a defensive stance. For a moment, the battlefield fell eerily silent. Then, with a gesture, he summoned a horde of ghouls to his side. They surged forward, their shrieks filling the air as they formed a protective circle around him.

The knight raised his sword, the blade glowing with an ominous light. He began to chant, his voice deep and resonant, each word dripping with power. The incantation was ancient.

"Ignis Aeternum, brennandi eilífr!

Flamma sancta, rót veraldar,

Óðr brennr í blóði goða!

Rísið af ösku, ragnablóð,

Incendite mundum in aeternum!"

The air grew heavy, the ground trembling as if the village itself feared what was coming. Cedric roared, charging forward with his warhammer blazing. Anya’s men followed, their Luminite pistols barking as they tried to clear a path through the ghouls. But the undead were relentless, their numbers overwhelming.

“We have to stop him!” Cedric bellowed, his voice hoarse. He swung his hammer in a wide arc, sending a wave of fire crashing into the ghouls. But for every one that fell, two more took its place.

Lyra struggled to her feet, her hands glowing with the faint shimmer of healing magic. “Father!” she cried, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

Leona grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “You can’t help him like this. Stay here.”

The knight’s chanting grew louder, the air around him crackling with energy. The runes on his armor glowed brighter, and the ground beneath him began to fracture. A massive, swirling vortex of dark energy formed above him, its edges licking at the sky like flames.

Cedric fought with everything he had, his aura blazing like a sun. But even he could feel the toll it was taking. His muscles screamed, his vision blurred, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He was running out of time.

“Now!” he shouted, rallying Anya’s men for one final push. They surged forward, cutting through the ghouls with desperate determination. But it wasn’t enough.

The knight’s incantation reached its climax. He raised his sword high, the vortex above him coalescing into a single, blinding point of light. His voice boomed across the battlefield, the final words of the spell echoing like a death knell.

“Ignis Aeternum!”

The spell erupted, a massive wave of fire and darkness surging toward Cedric and his men. The blast consumed everything in its path, the heat so intense it melted stone and turned the air to ash.

Cedric braced himself, his warhammer raised in a futile attempt to shield himself. The last thing he saw was the inferno rushing toward him, its flames reflecting in his daughter’s terrified eyes.