The Elves didn't march. They flowed.
Pouring from the dense treeline in eerie, lockstep synchronization, thousands of Highland warriors took the field. The morning sun flared off their pristine armor, creating a brilliant, blinding sea of gold against the forest edge.
The Shadowrath vanguard led the host;elite bladesmen moving with fluid, lethal grace. Behind them massed the archers, gripping curved longbows of polished wood, flanked by cavalry astride the massive, pearl-white horned steeds native to the deep Highland domains. Mages and healers anchored the rear.
Lord Commander Carric rode beneath the golden banners. A winged helm obscured his face, leaving only cold, calculating eyes to sweep over the dirt-stained human lines. "Percival Kent's army," Carric murmured. "A worthy opponent. This might actually require some effort."
A scout broke from the treeline, breathless. "My Lord! Kent isn't there. Spies report his main force was ambushed by Greenskins near the western river. He's pinned."
A cold smile curved beneath Carric's visor. "So the distraction worked. Perfect timing." He narrowed his eyes at the human vanguard. "Still... there are more of them here than I anticipated. Seventy, maybe eighty thousand. We have them two to one, but they aren't retreating. It will be a hard-fought slaughter."
Across the scarred dirt of the battlefield, Vice Commander Ulric Stone spat. He didn't need to tell his men to hold their ground; the sheer weight of the golden army in front of them was enough to freeze them in place.
The two generals stared across the vast expanse, waiting to see who would blink first.
The Elves made the move.
Carric raised a single gauntlet. Five thousand Shadowraths surged forward, an unbroken wave of gold and steel. Behind them, the archers angled their bows.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
A localized eclipse blackened the sky as a synchronized rain of arrows arced toward the human vanguard.
Ulric didn't flinch. He had spent the entire night gutting his supply wagons.
"Release!" he roared.
Two heavy catapults snapped upward with a bone-rattling THWACK. They didn't launch loose stone. Instead, two massive, iron-ringed boulders ripped into the sky, dragging a gargantuan, patchwork canvas of stitched-together supply tents between them.
The shadow over the battlefield deepened as the crude net unfurled. The Elven volley struck the heavy fabric mid-air. Arrows pierced the thick canvas, but their lethal momentum died, hopelessly tangled in the flying monstrosity.
Down below, the charging Shadowraths faltered, looking up in sheer confusion as the sky went dark.
The boulders slammed into the earth. The massive, arrow-riddled canvas crashed down, swallowing the Elven vanguard whole.
A Shadowrath captain hacked desperately at the heavy cloth, his blade tearing a jagged rent. But the smell hit him before the light did the thick, eye-watering stench of lamp oil.
"Fall back!" he screamed.
Too late.
Ulric stepped up to the barricades, casually raising a heavy crossbow. He pushed a surge of dense, white mana into the stock, the iron bolt glowing with a superheated intensity.
With a sharp twang, the bolt buried itself in the oil-soaked canvas.
The eruption was deafening. The giant sheet turned into a blinding inferno in seconds. Five thousand elite warriors vanished into a suffocating sea of roaring flames and burning fabric.
"Healers!" Carric bellowed, his aristocratic calm shattering.
The Elven mages rushed the blaze, hands glowing with restorative light, but the sheer wall of heat drove them back. They couldn't even get close enough to cast. Out of the five thousand who charged, barely a dozen crawled from the ash.
Ulric lowered his crossbow, a grim, scarred smile stretching across his face. First move, humans