Across the kingdoms, mages and warriors alike began to move, both those already present and those who had just been forcibly returned from the Holy Grail dimension.
In Dragonhold, people were running in every direction, screaming, pursued by translucent figures that flickered in and out of sight.
Talen on one side raised his hand and cast his distortion magic, warping the space around one of the dead figures. The spirit's form twisted and collapsed inward, but within seconds, it reformed.
His eyes narrowed. "What—"
The spirit lunged at him again.
He distorted the space once more, this time with more force. The spirit dissolved completely, but then it reformed again, as though nothing had happened.
Talen gritted his teeth. "They're not staying down."
Across the city, the same nightmare unfolded. The spirits couldn't be stopped, killed, or even be slowed.
Both magic and weapons passed through them. And every time they were dispersed, they reformed.
