After marching for several hours through the oppressive gloom of the Forest of Echoing Sorrows, General Amazel raised a clenched fist, bringing the entire column to an immediate, silent halt.
"Julie," she said, her voice low. "Scout the perimeter. If it's suitable, we make camp here."
With a sharp nod and a barely perceptible wink, Julie signaled her team. They melted into the shadows without a sound, their movements a testament to their elite training. Minutes stretched into a tense silence before they returned. One scout leaned in, his whisper barely audible as he reported the terrain's features: a small clearing, a rock formation to the west that could serve as a natural barrier, and no immediate signs of large predators.
Julie turned to Amazel. "The ground is high and clear. We can secure the perimeter. It's suitable, General."
"Then we hold here!" Amazel announced, her voice carrying through the ranks. "Make camp! Stay vigilant!"
The camp erupted into a well-practiced ballet of efficiency. Tents were pitched in a defensive ring, watch rotations were posted, and soon, the scent of something far richer than standard rations began to waft from the central cookfire. That evening, the command group sat together on a large fallen log, eating a surprisingly delicious and hearty stew.
Sylphy blinked at her bowl, then at Amazel. "General… why the lavish meal? We have our rations."
Amazel offered a rare, gentle smile. "We are at war. Morale is a weapon as sharp as any sword. A good meal, a full stomach... it reminds a soldier what they're fighting for." Her words, simple and true, settled over them like a blessing. At that moment, in their eyes, she was not their general; she was a guardian.
Gobuka, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth, grinned. "You're my favorite general! You're kind, intelligent, beautiful, wise, and strong! Not like that skeleton-head who only knows how to torture people."
A faint blush colored Amazel's cheeks. "Oh, stop that. I'm not..." she demurred, though she couldn't hide a pleased smile, basking in the genuine camaraderie.
Around them, the mood was mixed. Amar was already asleep in his tent, exhausted from his healing efforts after the chiroswyrm attack. Tylon ate in his usual reliable silence, a rock of stability. Elfir picked at his food, his guilt a palpable weight next to Tylon's quiet strength.
And Julie's eyes remained locked on the treeline, her posture taut.
Sylphy followed her gaze. "Julie? What is it? You've been staring into the dark for an hour."
Julie snapped her attention back, a perfectly crafted, cheerful smile instantly on her face. "Nothing! Just... watching the shadows dance. Ah, Sylphy, that's a beautiful hairclip! Where did you get it?"
Sylphy, effortlessly diverted, launched into an enthusiastic and endlessly detailed story about a market stall. Julie nodded along, internally sighing in relief. Ah!…she talks too much, for god's sake someone stop her. Ah… My ears are bleeding. A well-timed yawn provided her escape. "So sleepy. Let's talk tomorrow!" she said, ducking into her tent to feign sleep, her senses still screaming about the forest.
Chirp. Chirp.
The sound was faint, artificial. Not an insect. Julie was out of her bedroll in a flash, dagger in hand, slipping into the night. She followed the sound to a small clearing 600 meters east of camp. It was empty. But her eyes were drawn to the ground—a broken vial, its remnants a viscous, crimson liquid soaking into the soil.
Ssshaa! Ssshaa!
A rattlesnake, eyes wild with unnatural frenzy, struck at her heel with no warning rattle. Julie's dagger moved in a silver arc, severing its head. The body thrashed, the head's fangs still snapping mindlessly at the air.
A rattlesnake that doesn't rattle... It attacks with pure, mindless rage. Her eyes darted from the twitching reptile to the red-soaked earth. Her blood ran cold. A lure. A potent one. We're not in a camp; we're in a bait box.
She didn't hesitate. A piercing whistle shattered the night's silence, once, twice, three times—the signal for imminent, catastrophic attack. She turned and sprinted back to camp.
Chaos was already being forged into order by the time she arrived. Amazel stood at the center, her voice a steady drumbeat of command, directing soldiers into a defensive formation.
"General!" Julie skidded to a halt, thrusting the broken vial into Amazel's hand. "East perimeter! It's a lure!"
Amazel touched the residue, rubbing it between her fingers, then brought it to her nose. Her face paled. "Demon scent. Potent. This is Seb-ath's work." Her head snapped up, her voice amplifying into a roar. "Vanguards, shield wall perimeter! Mages, behind them, prepare area denial spells! NOW!"
She locked eyes with Julie. "You. Take your scouts. Use the trees. Create barricades, pitfalls, deadfalls—whatever you can. Slow them down! We need time!"
Julie was already moving, her team falling in behind her. Axes bit into wood. Wires were strung taut between trees. The forest itself was turned into a weapon in a frantic, thirty-minute frenzy of preparation.
Then, the forest answered.
It began as a distant tremor, a deep-throated roaring that grew into a deafening wave of sound. Trees splintered and fell as the stampede arrived.
"WHAT WE FACE IS A STAMPEDE!" Amazel's voice rose above the din, not in fear, but in defiant challenge. "FRENZIED MONSTERS THAT KNOW ONLY DESTRUCTION! HERE, ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE! THIS IS THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE!" She paused, her sword held high. "TELL ME, WHO IS STRONGEST?!"
"WE ARE!" five hundred voices thundered back.
"WHO WILL SURVIVE?!"
"WE WILL!"
"THEN LET THE JUNGLE KNOW OUR STRENGTH!"
A unified, earth-shaking roar erupted from the army, their fear forged into blazing resolve.
The first wave hit the traps. A giant tiger leaped from the bushes, only for its forelegs to be severed by razor-sharp steel wires. It crashed down, impaled by poison-tipped darts triggered by its fall. The victory was short-lived. The jungle itself seemed to vomit forth its inhabitants: panthers with claws like scimitars, cackling hyenas, wolves with frothing muzzles, and a monstrous, tusked elephant that charged the line.
The vanguard held, their shields interlocked into an unbreakable wall. Spells and arrows rained down behind them, thinning the horde. For a moment, it seemed manageable.
Then the ground beneath the front line erupted.
A colossal, stone-plated armadillo-like creature, a Gravadilo, burst from the earth, its jagged teeth latching onto a vanguard's leg and shaking him violently like a ragdoll.
"AAAAGHH!"
With a horrific tear, the soldier's leg was severed. He was thrown aside, his body crashing through a tent. The defensive line buckled. Monsters poured through the breach.
"PYRO BALL!" Amazel's spell incinerated three creatures closing in on the wounded man. "TYLON! THE GRAVADILO IS YOURS!"
"AFFIRMATIVE!"
Tylon moved with a speed belying his size. His massive hammer swung in a wide arc, clearing a space around him. He charged, leaping high into the air and bringing his hammer down on the beast's head with the force of a meteor.
CRUNCH!
Stone plating shattered. The Gravadilo shrieked, staggering back, black blood oozing from the crater in its skull. Enraged, it spun, whipping its spiked tail at Tylon's chest. He caught the blow on his shield with a deafening CLANG, but was driven back a step. Before he could counter, the beast curled into a perfect, terrifyingly fast stone ball and launched itself at him. Tylon barely dodged, the wind of its passage whipping at his face.
And then, the true predators arrived.
From the tree canopy descended Plumivorax, a peacock whose iridescent tail feathers were not for show, but were a fan of razor-sharp, jeweled blades.
From the shadows slunk Vulpyre, a fox-like creature whose sleek fur smoldered with embers, leaving trails of fire in its wake.
And from a newly torn chasm in the earth rose the Terrasnake, a colossal serpent armored in stone plates, its eyes glowing with malevolent hunger.
Amazel's command cut through the battlefield, clear and absolute. "ALL COMMANDERS, ENGAGE THE TYRANTS! EVERYONE ELSE, HOLD THE LINE! CLEAR THE FOOT SOLDIERS!"
The battle fractured into a series of deadly duels. Gobuka's sword met the singing blades of Plumivorax's feathers in a shower of sparks. Elfir, his guilt burned away in the heat of battle, unleashed his own fire against the infernal Vulpyre. Julie and Sylphy moved as one, flanking the colossal Terrasnake, their attacks seeking a chink in its stony armor.
Above it all, Amar and his light mages wove a web of healing and protective energy, desperately trying to keep the crumbling defensive line from breaking completely. The camp had become an island under siege, surrounded by a sea of claws, teeth, and rage.