The demon army came at dawn.
Not the scattered remnants of the night before. Not a probing assault. A full-scale offensive, organized and relentless, their ranks stretching across the plain like a sea of shadow and steel.
The ground trembled beneath their feet. The sky darkened with the wings of the flying demons. Their screeches echoed across the plain, a sound like breaking glass and tearing metal, a sound that promised death.
The soldiers on the walls watched them come, their faces pale, their weapons ready. They had survived the night. They had buried their dead. Now they were going to die.
Reyes stood at the eastern gate, her sword in her hand, her armor dented, her cloak torn. Her eyes were hollow, but her voice was steady.
"Hold the line," she said. "Don't give them an inch."
The soldiers braced themselves.
The first wave hit like a hammer.
Demons swarmed over the walls, their claws gleaming, their eyes burning. The soldiers fought back, their weapons blazing, their faces grim. The turrets opened fire, mana bolts carving through the ranks. The flying demons descended, their screeches deafening.
Reyes moved through the chaos, her sword flashing, her voice cutting through the noise. She killed. And killed. And killed. But the demons kept coming.
She saw the line begin to buckle.
The second wave was worse.
The flying demons dropped ground troops directly onto the walls, bypassing the turrets entirely. Soldiers were overwhelmed, their formations broken, their weapons scattered. The breach that had been sealed the night before was opening again.
Demons poured through the gap, their claws raking across the stone, their bodies crashing into the defenders. Soldiers fell, their throats torn out, their bodies hurled from the walls. The screams were endless.
Reyes saw the eastern wall crumble.
She grabbed a lieutenant by the arm. "Get the Apaches in the air!"
"They're not ready! The repairs—"
"Get them in the air!"
He ran.
The barracks doors opened.
The Apaches rose from their hangars, their rotors thundering, their mana cannons glowing. They had been held in reserve, saved for the worst-case scenario. This was it.
They swept over the walls, their searchlights cutting through the darkness. Their cannons opened fire, mana bolts carving through the demon ranks. The ground troops scattered, their formations broken. The flying demons turned to face the new threat, their screeches filling the air.
The battle shifted—but only slightly.
There were too many demons. The Apaches couldn't hold them all. One went down, its rotors shattered, its hull crumpling into the streets below. Another followed. A third.
But they bought time.
Reyes saw the line break.
A group of demons surged through the breach, scattering the soldiers, carving a path into the city. More followed. The defense was crumbling. She watched soldiers fall, their bodies broken, their weapons scattered. She watched the demons push deeper into the city, their claws gleaming, their eyes burning.
She turned to the lieutenant beside her. "The jets. We need the jets."
"Commander, the jets are for—"
"I don't care what they're for! Get them in the air!"
He ran.
The hangar doors opened.
The F-22 Raptors rose from their bays, their engines screaming, their afterburners painting lines of fire across the sky. They had been held in reserve, saved for the worst-case scenario. This was it.
They screamed over the walls, their missiles dropping, their cannons blazing. The explosions were deafening, carving craters in the demon ranks, scattering their formations. The flying demons turned to face the new threat, their screeches filling the air.
The jets were fast, precise, deadly. They carved through the demon ranks like a blade through flesh, their missiles tearing through the ground troops, their cannons shredding the flying demons.
But there were only a handful of them. The demon army was endless.
The jets made a difference—but not enough.
Reyes watched the battle from the wall, her sword still in her hand, her heart pounding. The jets were doing their work, but the demons were still coming. The ground troops were still pressing forward. The line was still buckling.
"Commander," a lieutenant shouted, "the eastern wall is about to fall!"
She turned to him. "Then we hold it."
"With what?"
She looked at the oil barrels stacked along the wall. They were meant to fuel the Apaches, to power the generators, to keep the city running. But they could be used for something else.
"The oil," she said. "Pour it over the wall. All of it."
The lieutenant stared at her. "Commander, that's our entire fuel supply. If we—"
"Do it."
He ran.
The soldiers poured the oil over the wall.
It flowed down the stone, black and slick, pooling at the base of the wall. The demons climbed over it, their claws scraping against the stone, their eyes burning. They didn't understand what was coming.
Then the fire came.
A single torch, thrown from the wall. The oil ignited instantly, a wall of flame erupting along the base of the wall. The demons screamed—a sound of pure agony—as the fire consumed them. Their bodies burned, their flesh blackening, their bones crumbling. The flames rose higher, spreading outward, consuming the dead and the dying.
The fire spread to the plain beyond, catching the dry grass, the fallen bodies, the debris of battle. The flames leaped from corpse to corpse, from rock to rock, from the base of the wall to the open field.
The demon army recoiled.
The soldiers on the wall stared at the fire, their faces lit by the orange glow. They had just burned their fuel supply. They had just burned their enemy. They had just burned the land itself.
But they were still alive.
Reyes stood at the edge of the wall, her sword still in her hand, her eyes fixed on the flames.
"Hold the line," she said. "Hold the line."
The fire burned through the afternoon.
The flames rose higher, spreading across the plain, consuming everything in their path. The demon army retreated, their numbers broken, their will shattered. The soldiers on the walls watched them go, their faces hollow, their eyes empty.
Reyes walked through the carnage, her boots crunching on the broken stone. The fire was still burning, spreading slowly across the plain. The land was blackened, scorched, destroyed.
She found a lieutenant, his face pale, his uniform stained.
"Commander, the fire is spreading. We can't control it."
She nodded slowly. "Then let it burn."
"But the land—"
"The land can recover." She met his eyes. "We can't."
The sun set over the burning horizon.
Reyes stood on the eastern wall, looking out at the flames. The fire was still spreading, consuming the plain, consuming the dead, consuming everything in its path. The smoke was thick, the air choked with ash.
She thought about the jets. The Apaches. The oil. The fire. She had used everything she had. She had sacrificed everything she had.
And she was still standing.
She touched her chest, feeling the cold metal of her armor.
Kade, she thought. Where are you?
She didn't have an answer.
She turned to walk back toward the command center—
And stopped.
A figure stepped out of the flames.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his armor scarred by countless battles. A scar ran across his jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent half-smile. His eyes were cold, calculating, familiar. The flames parted around him like water around a stone, his wings folding against his back, his claws gleaming in the firelight.
Vorthar.
He walked through the inferno like it was nothing, his boots crunching on the charred earth, his gaze fixed on the wall above.
"Commander Reyes," he said. His voice carried across the burning plain, clear and calm. "I've been watching your little display. Impressive."
The soldiers on the wall froze. Weapons raised. Faces pale.
Vorthar stopped at the edge of the flames, looking up at her. He smiled.
"But fire doesn't last forever. And neither will you."
He raised a hand.
The flames behind him rose higher, taller, hungrier.
Reyes gripped her sword.
"Stand ready," she said.
The soldiers braced themselves.
Vorthar's smile widened.
"Let's begin."