The air smelled of burnt metal and sweat. Elias crouched behind the shattered remnants of a stone wall, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his spirit dagger. The blade hummed faintly, its embedded gem flickering with the last dregs of his mana. Across the battlefield, the enemy legion advanced—black-clad soldiers moving like shadows through the smoke.
"Hold the line!" Captain Veyra's voice cut through the chaos, raw with command. "They break here, or we die here!"
Elias exhaled sharply, his breath fogging in the cold morning air. He could feel the weight of the past weeks pressing down on him—the retreats, the lost battles, the faces of the fallen. But today, the Twelfth Legion would not run.
A bolt of violet energy screamed overhead, slamming into the ground near their position. The earth erupted, sending shards of rock and dirt spraying. Elias ducked, shielding his face as the shockwave rattled his bones.
"Damn void mages," muttered Kael, the squad's scout, wiping blood from a cut above his brow. "They're softening us up before the real push."
Elias nodded. The enemy's dark sorcerers had been relentless, their magic gnawing at the edges of their defenses like rot. He glanced at the others—Veyra, her armor dented but her stance unbroken; Kael, wiry and quick, already scanning for weaknesses; and Rina, their healer, her hands trembling from exhaustion.
They were all that remained of their unit.
Another blast rocked the ground, closer this time. The black tide of soldiers surged forward, their weapons gleaming under the ash-choked sky.
"Now!" Veyra roared.
Elias lunged from cover, his spirit dagger flaring to life as he channeled the last of his mana into it. The blade's edge shimmered with aetheric energy, cutting through the first enemy soldier like parchment. The man crumpled, his armor useless against the magic-forged steel.
Kael moved like a shadow, darting between foes, his twin daggers finding throats and gaps in armor. Rina stayed back, her hands weaving a fragile barrier of light to deflect incoming arrows.
But the enemy kept coming.
Elias gritted his teeth as a sword scraped against his pauldron, the impact jarring his shoulder. He pivoted, driving his dagger into the attacker's ribs. The man gasped, his eyes wide with shock before he collapsed.
For a moment, the tide seemed to slow. Then the ground trembled.
A massive figure clad in obsidian plate emerged from the enemy ranks, a two-handed warhammer crackling with void energy. The warlord.
Veyra spat blood onto the dirt. "Of course they sent *him*."
Elias had heard the stories—Garrik the Unbroken, a monster who had shattered entire companies single-handedly. His hammer, *Sunder*, was said to drain the life from those it struck.
Garrik raised his weapon, and the air itself seemed to darken around him. "Twelfth Legion," he boomed, his voice like grinding stone. "Your name dies today."
Elias felt the fear clawing at his chest, but he forced it down. He had made a promise—to himself, to the fallen. The Twelfth would not break.
Veyra stepped forward, her sword raised. "Then let's make sure yours is remembered with it."
Garrik laughed and charged.
The impact of his hammer sent Veyra skidding back, her blade barely deflecting the blow. Elias moved to flank, but a backhanded swing from Garrik sent him sprawling. Pain flared across his ribs.
Kael darted in, slashing at the warlord's exposed side, but Garrik twisted, catching him with a brutal kick that sent the scout flying.
Rina's barrier flickered as she tried to reinforce it, but the strain was too much. An arrow slipped through, grazing her arm. She cried out, her concentration shattered.
Elias forced himself up, his vision swimming. They were losing.
Then—a horn.
Clear and bright, cutting through the din of battle.
From the ridge above, a new force poured into the fray—silver banners snapping in the wind, their armor gleaming despite the grime of war.
"The Seventh!" someone shouted.
Elias's breath caught. Reinforcements.
Garrik snarled, turning to face the new threat, but Veyra seized the opening. Her sword flashed, carving a deep gash across his thigh. The warlord roared, swinging wildly, but his balance was gone.
Elias didn't hesitate. He lunged, driving his spirit dagger into the gap between Garrik's breastplate and helm. The blade sank deep, its magic flaring as it pierced flesh.
For a heartbeat, Garrik stood frozen. Then his hammer slipped from his grasp, and he toppled like a felled tree.
Silence.
Then the enemy broke.
The black-clad soldiers faltered, their advance crumbling as the Seventh Legion hammered into their flanks. The tide had turned.
Elias staggered back, his legs threatening to give out. Kael limped over, hauling Rina to her feet. Veyra stood over Garrik's corpse, her chest heaving.
"We held," she said, her voice hoarse.
Elias nodded, looking at the remnants of their squad—battered, bleeding, but alive. The Twelfth Legion still stood.
But as the cheers of the Seventh echoed across the field, Elias couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The enemy had thrown their worst at them, and yet, somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, darker forces stirred.
And the Twelfth would be ready.