Behind the eight, the dozen great seams Arthur held open went on pouring out Earth's armies. Kagu void-ships slid into the black, long and obsidian, their hulls ticking with charge. Slatemark battle-mages came through in disciplined blocks, riding constructs of rune-light that unfolded into wings the moment they cleared the seam. Creighton war-frames, silver and blue, unlatched from their transit cradles and swung their targeting arrays toward a sky full of targets.
Then the two forces met.
There was no sound. There couldn't be. But the vacuum lit up like a festival seen through glass. Lances of mana crossed bolts of corrosive miasma. A demon frigate split along its spine and spilled burning ichor that froze as it went. A Creighton frame took a hit square on its shield, staggered, and fired back from three metres closer. Debris spread in slow, glittering fans over the grey plain.
