The walls of the Obsidian Web estate shuddered under the first heavy assault, but Rayon, Cairo, and Severin didn't wait for the enemy to reach them. They descended into the chaos like storms incarnate, moving with the confidence of predators who had never known defeat.
Rayon's voice cut through the battlefield, calm, almost playful. "Come on then… show me what you're worth."
And the soldiers of the Sanctum, disciplined and ruthless, charged. But they met the impossible. Rayon danced among them, a blur of motion, his movements so precise that even the trained eye could not follow. His voice whispered in their ears, subtle yet commanding, twisting perception and bending thought. Men who had been ready to strike suddenly stumbled into traps they didn't even see coming, or turned against one another as if controlled by some unseen hand. It was perfect hypnosis—not the crude illusion of some mage, but the kind of manipulation that made the mind itself betray its own body.
Meanwhile, Cairo moved like liquid death. Silent, fluid, lethal. He didn't simply fight—he erased enemies. With each swing of his blade, entire formations shattered, arcs of destruction leaving nothing but chaos in their wake. His power was rooted not in raw strength alone, but in anticipation. Every strike, every step, every glance calculated the enemy's next thought, and acted before they even dared to move. Soldiers died before they knew fear.
Severin, behind them, was a tempest given form. His presence alone bent reality, distorting the battlefield. Each wave of energy that emanated from him tore the ground, snapped weapons, and unmade armor. Where he moved, the air screamed and steel screamed louder. But Severin's true power was subtle: he didn't just destroy, he corrupted. Every attack carried the weight of inevitability, a seed of despair that turned courage to hesitation and hesitation to death.
The narrator's voice, unseen yet impossibly present, whispered over the carnage:
"Together, they are not merely three warriors—they are a singular force of annihilation. Rayon commands the mind, bending perception and twisting reality with hypnotic precision. Cairo commands the body, striking with preternatural foresight and perfect lethality. Severin commands the battlefield itself, warping the environment, turning chaos into a weapon of absolute inevitability. Alone, each is deadly. Together… they are untouchable, unstoppable, the deadliest storm the Sanctum has ever faced."
Rayon's grin widened as he intercepted a squad that had broken past the front lines. "You all really thought you'd get to the Web without playing with me?" His voice dripped with amusement. Around him, soldiers faltered, their weapons slipping from numb hands, as if the very air had betrayed them.
Cairo didn't speak; he didn't need to. Each movement was poetry in violence. Soldiers collided with each other in blind panic, arrows turning on their own allies, and daggers sinking into armor only to find empty air where the man should have been.
Severin laughed, low and dangerous. A swing of his arm, and the ground itself rose like living walls, crushing or flinging intruders with terrifying precision. "I wonder," he said, "do they even realize the game's already over?"
And yet, still, the assault continued. The Sanctum was unrelenting, but each wave crashed against the trio like waves against a cliff. They feared nothing, ducked no attack, yielded to no one. Every strike was countered, every plan unraveled, every hope crushed under their collective mastery.
From above, the estate seemed alive, pulsing with the energy of three people who could not, and would not, be defeated. And as the morning sun rose, illuminating the blood-stained ground, it became clear: no force in the known world—no matter how disciplined, powerful, or ancient—was prepared for what it meant to face the Obsidian Web's trio at their peak.