The roar of Dante shook the canyon.
The great Flame Dragon swept across the overcast sky, wings spanning nearly fifty feet from tip to tip. His roar crashed against the stone walls of Crescent Moon Canyon, echoing again and again until the earth itself seemed to tremble beneath the Imperial army's boots.
Thousands of soldiers instinctively looked upward.
Some tightened their grip on their shields.
Others whispered prayers.
No one spoke above a murmur.
Even General Valen found himself staring skyward.
A Flame Dragon.
Not merely alive...
Commanded.
Waiting.
Then Dante banked sharply.
The General frowned.
The dragon wasn't diving toward the front.
He was angling toward the center of the marching column.
"Battle mages!" one officer shouted.
"Protect the command!"
Too late.
Dante folded his wings.
His massive body dropped with terrifying speed before leveling out only yards above the soldiers' heads.
His jaws opened.
White-hot flame erupted.
It wasn't fire.
It was a river of molten destruction.
The inferno carved through the heart of the Imperial formation, engulfing battle mages, reserve officers, signal corps, and supply wagons alike.
Stone blackened.
Armor liquefied.
Entire companies simply vanished beneath the torrent.
The screams lasted only moments.
Then there was nothing.
Dante never slowed.
Never landed.
His wings spread once more as he climbed back into the gray sky, circling silently above the battlefield.
The Imperial army had been split cleanly in two.
General Valen stared in disbelief.
"...Impossible..."
The canyon answered.
Explosions echoed from both cliffs.
Not random.
Deliberate.
Entire sections of weakened stone gave way exactly where Jax had prepared them the night before.
Massive boulders crashed into the Imperial ranks.
Dust erupted.
Columns broke apart.
Communication banners disappeared behind clouds of debris.
Officers shouted orders that never reached the next formation.
Ten thousand disciplined soldiers became dozens of isolated pockets.
Exactly as Jax had intended.
High above the battlefield, Llandra never stopped moving.
Her Legendary skill concealed her true body while two Astral Echoes mirrored every motion from opposite ends of the canyon.
Three archers.
One mind.
Four arrows flew from each bow with every release.
Twelve enchanted arrows streaked through the dust.
Again.
Again.
Again.
To Jax, the magic radiating from Starpiercer reminded him of overlapping artillery from his old world.
Each release cracked through the canyon like a barrage of exploding fireball spells, the echoes blending together until individual shots became impossible to distinguish.
Imperial soldiers collapsed in disciplined rows.
Magic barriers shattered beneath the relentless assault.
Shields splintered.
Commanders disappeared before they could issue a second order.
Her arrows found officers.
Signal bearers.
Battle mages.
Every shot removed another piece of the Empire's ability to fight as one.
Jax never moved.
His black trench coat drifted gently in the breeze.
His eyes swept across the battlefield.
Watching.
Calculating.
Waiting.
Behind him...
The Shadow Army advanced.
No battle cries.
No roars.
Only disciplined footsteps.
One thousand shadows marched forward in eerie silence.
At their head...
Warden.
The armored commander strode to the front of the formation before drawing his longsword in one smooth motion.
The ringing steel echoed through the canyon.
He raised the blade toward the sky.
A wave of violet-black energy pulsed outward.
It flowed through every shadow like blood through living veins.
Shadow Wolves lowered themselves into coordinated hunting formations.
Shadow Ogres spread apart to prevent bottlenecks.
Shadow Knights tightened their shield wall without a single spoken command.
Serpents slipped silently between the advancing ranks.
Every shadow moved with newfound purpose.
Not stronger through fury.
Sharper through discipline.
General Valen watched the transformation.
"...They're reorganizing."
One of his captains swallowed hard.
"They're acting like veterans."
"No..."
Valen whispered.
"...they're acting like an army."
The first Imperial line charged.
Nearly fifty soldiers broke formation and rushed Warden together.
The armored knight never hurried.
He calmly drove his longsword into the stone behind him.
One hand remained wrapped around its hilt.
His other arm lifted the massive shield.
"Taunt."
The nearest soldiers abandoned every thought of strategy.
Every instinct.
Every other target.
Their world narrowed until only Warden existed.
They crashed into him like a tidal wave.
Steel slammed against his shield.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Dozens of blows rained down.
Warden never yielded a single step.
His cape flowed behind him as though caught in an entirely different wind.
Then...
A shadow crossed overhead.
Gryph folded his wings.
The massive gryphon became a compact mass of feathers, muscle, and steel.
He struck the tightly packed soldiers like a siege boulder launched from a catapult.
Men flew through the air.
Shields exploded into splinters.
Armor crumpled inward beneath the impossible force.
Before the survivors could recover, Gryph's wings burst open once more.
Razor-sharp talons flashed.
Steel parted like wet parchment.
The gryphon was airborne again before the first bodies struck the ground.
Without missing a beat...
Fang arrived.
The enormous serpent flowed between fallen soldiers with frightening grace.
He didn't waste effort crushing every opponent.
He barely touched them.
A captain cried out as a fang grazed his forearm.
Only a scratch.
He laughed.
"It missed!"
Ten seconds later...
His sword slipped from nerveless fingers.
His knees buckled.
His breathing became shallow.
He collapsed without another wound upon him.
Nearby soldiers froze.
"The poison..."
Fang was already gone.
Another soldier stumbled.
Then another.
Tiny cuts.
Tiny scratches.
Each one became another body unable to stand.
Within moments, entire formations were falling apart, not from mortal wounds...
But because the serpent had brushed past them.
The Shadow Army never broke stride.
Shadow Knights advanced through the widening gaps.
Shadow Wolves overwhelmed isolated pockets four against one without hesitation.
Several wolves fell beneath desperate spear thrusts.
The others never slowed.
The objective mattered.
Not survival.
The Imperial soldiers stared in horror as shadows willingly threw themselves into impossible odds simply to drag another defender to the ground.
Every sacrifice created another opening.
Every opening was exploited.
Every fallen shadow had already fulfilled its purpose.
High above...
Dante circled once more.
His enormous wings blotted out the sun as he banked toward the rear of the Imperial army.
General Valen's eyes widened.
"...No..."
The dragon descended again.
Another river of molten flame swept across the canyon.
The rear ranks dissolved beneath the inferno.
Soldiers screamed.
Others fled.
But there was nowhere left to run.
Behind them...
Fire.
Before them...
The Shadow Army.
The once-proud Imperial formation had become scattered islands surrounded by death.
General Valen looked across the battlefield.
His battle mages were gone.
His command structure had collapsed.
His formations no longer existed.
His soldiers were fighting dozens of separate battles instead of one.
Then his eyes found Jax once more.
The man still hadn't drawn a weapon.
He simply stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Patiently allowing the battlefield to become exactly what he wanted.
The General felt something he hadn't experienced in decades.
Doubt.
For the first time since entering Crescent Moon Canyon...
He realized they hadn't marched into a battle.
They had marched into an execution.