Poooooooorrrr!!
The first horn blast echoed through the Greshan skyline like a warning from the gods.
It wasn't the start of the battle—that had already begun.
The outer scouts had vanished without a word. Essence tracking spells stopped reporting. Magic circle along the northern ridge lit up in warning, then died.
Everyone on the northern front knew what that meant.
The horde had arrived.
Damien stood on a rooftop above the city's outermost path, watching the distant treeline ripple unnaturally in the dusk. Shadows shifted. Trees shook with no wind. Birds had stopped flying hours ago.
The demons were close now.
And they brought silence with them.
Below him, the mercenaries of Greshan were forming up—archers on raised scaffolding, runebearers laying down suppression circles, barrier-casters channeling layered shields.
Lyone was with a squad near the back line, his blade drawn, hands shaking but eyes focused.
