The enemy line surged ahead—five Bronze II crashing like a wave, with Bronze I fighters flanking to close the cave mouth. Above them, Lord Veythar's silver aura coiled, heavy and oppressive like a gathering storm.
Drael braced himself, shield raised. His roar shook the cavern walls.
"Hold steady! With me!"
The first clash struck like thunder.
A Bronze II axeman slammed his weapon against Drael's shield, sparks bursting in a shower of light. The force pushed Drael back a step, his boots grinding into the dirt.
Another enemy lunged from the side with a spear, but Grok was faster. He stepped in front, his heavy club swinging in a brutal arc that smashed against the attacker's ribs. The sound was sharp and heavy—like wood striking stone.
Tarran moved next, quick and focused. His spear darted forward, slipping through a gap in an enemy's armor. The warrior cried out and stumbled back. Renn was already there, sliding in beside him. His spear struck low, driving the wounded man away from the line.
From the shadows above, Veyra's arrows sang through the air—every shot timed to strike exposed gaps. One arrow struck a swordsman's knee, forcing him down. Before he could recover, Thorn's vines burst from his body, wrapping around his legs and dragging him hard against the earth.
Through the chaos, Sylus moved like a phantom. His figure flickered in and out of sight as Shadow Step carried him between enemies. His twin daggers cut a Bronze I across the throat before he vanished, reappearing behind another to drive steel between ribs.
Above, Ember shrieked, her wings cutting wide arcs through the air. Each beat sent ripples of wind crashing down, forcing the enemy line to scatter.
But then Veythar rose to meet her. His silver-scaled gauntlets shimmered as coils of energy snapped out like living whips. Each strike met Ember's winds with blinding flashes of light, the sky above the cave mouth turning into a storm of silver and white.
Below, Karl stepped into the fray. His spear burned with essence, the glow tracing sharp lines through the smoke and dust. He drove the weapon forward, piercing a Bronze II's armor with a sound like splitting stone. Without pause, he twisted the shaft and swept it sideways, knocking another foe off balance.
"Push forward!" Karl's voice rang clear through the chaos. "Don't give them space!"
The call rippled through the group, steadying their rhythm. The cave mouth blazed with motion—steel against steel, light against shadow.
A roar cut through the noise. An enemy mage raised his staff, fire bursting from the tip in a wave of heat and color. Drael stepped forward, planting his shield into the ground. The flame crashed against it, wrapping the bronze surface in burning light, but the barrier held.
As the fire faded, Renn leapt in, his spear flashing once, then again. The second strike pierced the mage's chest with a merciless thrust. The body fell to the ground.
But the cost came quickly. The clash turned brutal, and blood began to stain the stone floor.
Grok took a heavy blow from a Bronze II's club. The strike cracked his bark-like skin, sending him staggering to one knee. Nearby, Tarran grunted in pain as two arrows punched through his armor, forcing him to drop his stance.
Sylus cut down one opponent with a swift dagger thrust, but a sword found his shoulder before he could fade away, the wound deep enough to slow him. Thorn's vines lashed out to protect him but were sliced apart, leaving the druid trapped for a heartbeat.
Even Karl was struck—a sharp line of pain burned across his ribs from a poorly timed dodge.
Then the air shifted.
High above, Ember spread her wings wide. They began to spin faster and faster until the air screamed in protest. A cyclone burst from her form, slicing across the battlefield in a roaring gale. Dust, stone, and blood were thrown into the air as wind blades cut through everything in their path.
The enemy line broke their shields were ripped away, weapons flew out from hands.
Five of Veythar's warriors were caught in the storm. Two Bronze I were shredded before they could scream. One Bronze II was hurled into a jagged crystal spire, his body crushed on impact. Another's armor was split open, blood spraying into the wind before he fell to the ground.
Through the storm, Drael saw their chance. He slammed his shield forward and raised his voice over the howl of the wind.
"Forward! Break them!"
Drael's roar carried through the storm. His shield gleamed with cracks of light as he charged, each step shaking loose dust from the ceiling.
Tarran followed close behind, his spear thrusting through the chaos. Renn and Veyra moved beside him, one striking fast, the other covering each opening with sharp, whistling arrows.
Grok rose again despite the wound in his side, swinging his heavy club with a furious cry. Thorn's vines burst from his body once more, dragging the fallen enemies deeper into the storm.
The momentum shifted. Karl drove his spear forward, piercing an enemy's chest and kicking the body aside. Every strike, every shout, carried the weight of desperation and unity. Together they pushed the enemy back, step by step, forcing them toward the cave's edge.
Veythar's remaining warriors faltered. Their formation broke, their eyes wide with fear. The ground was littered with the fallen—five of their number gone to the storm and in battle.
For the first time, Lord Veythar's calm began to crack, his menacing aura flickered, He looked down at the battlefield—at his warriors lying still at Karl's group pressing forward through blood and dust—which made his jaw tightened.
Veythar hissed, silver eyes burning with fury, as he parried Ember's last cyclone slash. He landed at the rear of his retreating warriors, aura flaring, but knew pressing further would mean death.
"Fall back!" his voice rang out, cold and venomous.
The remaining enemies obeyed instantly, retreating toward the far tunnel.
Veythar's eyes met Karl's for a brief moment. Silver against white. Fury against resolve.
"This isn't over," he said, his voice low but carrying through the fading wind.
Then his form blurred into mist, vanishing into the dark with the few survivors that remained.
The cavern fell silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and the soft crackle of dying embers.
Tarran staggered forward, glancing toward the retreating figures. "Should we chase them, My Lord?"