The night after the battle was not a night of rest.
The Citadel still stood, but its walls were cracked, its towers leaning, its gates splintered. Fires smoldered in the ruins, casting the courtyard in a wavering, hellish glow. The stench of blood, smoke, and sulfur hung so heavy in the air that it seemed to choke the breath of every survivor.
Kael sat at the edge of the courtyard, sharpening his blade. The steel whispered as it slid against the whetstone, sparks dancing like fireflies in the dark. He had not closed his eyes since the battle. He couldn't. Every time he tried, the voice of the lieutenant came back to him, whispering that his soul was already half-claimed by darkness.
He wanted to believe it was a lie. But lies had power when they echoed your own fears.
Selene approached quietly, her staff tapping against the stones. She stopped a few paces away, her gaze fixed on him. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
Kael didn't look up. "The demons won't wait for me to rest."
"And if you collapse from exhaustion, what good will you be when they come again?" Her tone was firm, but her eyes were weary. She, too, had carried the weight of the siege on her shoulders. Her magic had saved hundreds, but it had drained her to the edge of collapse.
Kael finally set down his blade and glanced at her. "You're right. But I can't stop. Not yet. You saw him, Selene—the lieutenant. He knew me. He spoke to me like I was already part of his world. If the Demon King is watching, then I can't let myself falter. Not even once."
She hesitated, then sat beside him on the stone. For a long moment, they listened to the crackle of the dying fires. "Kael," she said softly, "you don't have to carry this alone."
He clenched his jaw, then gave a faint, bitter smile. "Don't I? Everyone looks at me like I'm their last hope. If I break, the whole war breaks with me."
Her hand tightened on her staff. She wanted to argue, but she knew he wasn't entirely wrong. Kael had become more than a slayer—he was a symbol. And symbols couldn't be allowed to crack.
The moment was broken by a horn blast from the walls.
Both of them leapt to their feet. Soldiers rushed to the battlements, torches raised. Kael's hand was on his blade before the second blast echoed.
This time, though, it wasn't the sound of attack. It was the signal for a messenger.
Through the gates came a rider, his armor battered, his cloak torn and soaked from the storm. He slid from his horse, collapsing to one knee before the commanders gathered in the courtyard.
"I bring word from the northern watchtowers," he gasped. "The demons are on the move again. Entire villages… gone. And they're not just attacking. They're harvesting."
Murmurs spread through the soldiers. Selene's eyes widened. "Harvesting what?"
The rider's face went pale. "Souls. They're taking the living… draining them. What's left isn't human anymore."
A hush fell. Even hardened slayers looked shaken.
Kael stepped forward. "Where?"
"North," the rider said. "Toward the Blackwood. Toward the ruins of Armathis."
The name struck Kael like a blade. Armathis. A forgotten city, once a stronghold of the first Demon War centuries ago. Its ruins were said to be cursed, left abandoned when the demons first bled into their world. If the enemy was moving there…
"They're preparing something," Kael said grimly. "We can't sit here waiting for them to strike again. If they're gathering power at Armathis, we have to cut them off."
Commander Varic, old but still sharp-eyed, frowned. "The Citadel is barely holding. If we march, we leave it exposed. And if Armathis is truly cursed, stepping into its ruins may be worse than facing the army outside these walls."
Kael's gaze hardened. "If we wait, the curse will come to us. If the Demon King wants Armathis, then we have no choice. We have to go there first."
Varic studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "You would drag what's left of our strength into a deathtrap."
"Better to die fighting," Kael replied, "than to die waiting."
Selene's voice joined his. "He's right. If they're harvesting souls, then time is against us. Every moment we hesitate, they grow stronger. We have to move."
Reluctantly, the commanders agreed. Preparations began before dawn.
---
The march to the north was brutal. The storm followed them, sheets of rain turning the roads to mud, lightning tearing across the sky in jagged veins. The soldiers trudged forward in silence, each step heavier than the last.
The further they traveled, the stranger the land became. The trees grew twisted, their branches curling like claws. The mist thickened, swallowing the sound of their march. Whispers carried on the wind, voices that seemed too close, too familiar. Some soldiers swore they heard their dead loved ones calling to them from the fog.
Selene strengthened her wards, but even her magic faltered under the weight of the curse. "This land… it's bleeding corruption. It's feeding on fear."
Kael felt it too. His blade pulsed faintly at his side, its runes glowing whenever the mist drew too near. It was as if the steel itself hungered for the battle that awaited.
By the third night, they reached the outskirts of Armathis.
The ruins rose from the mist like broken teeth. Towers leaned at impossible angles, their stone blackened and scarred as though the city had been burned from within. The gates hung shattered, the streets choked with weeds and ash. No birds sang. No insects stirred. Only silence.
Kael lifted his hand, signaling the company to halt. "Stay sharp. They're here."
They entered cautiously, torches casting flickering light on the ruins. The whispers grew louder. Shapes moved at the edge of vision—shadows that scattered whenever the light touched them.
Selene tightened her grip on her staff. "This place is wrong. It feels alive."
"It is alive," came a voice from the darkness.
The soldiers froze.
From the mist stepped figures—not demons, not fully. They wore the tattered remains of human armor, their faces pale and hollow, their eyes glowing faintly violet. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, like puppets on invisible strings.
The messenger's words came back in Kael's mind. Harvested souls.
"They're still human," Selene whispered in horror.
"No," Kael said grimly, drawing his blade. "Not anymore."
The creatures screeched, and the ruins came alive with movement. Dozens of them poured from the shadows, rushing the soldiers with inhuman speed.
The battle exploded into chaos.
Steel clashed against twisted claws. Arrows thudded into pale flesh, only for the creatures to keep moving, shrieking as though pain no longer mattered.
Kael cut through them, each strike severing puppet strings that leaked violet smoke. But for every one that fell, two more emerged.
Selene raised her staff, sending arcs of white fire into the swarm, burning them to ash. "They're endless!" she cried.
Kael's eyes narrowed. No army was endless. Something was summoning them. Feeding them.
He fought his way forward, deeper into the ruins, until he reached the city's central square. There, at the heart of Armathis, he saw it.
A great crystal, black as obsidian, jutted from the earth. It pulsed like a heartbeat, every throb releasing another wave of mist, another shriek of harvested souls. Around it stood cloaked figures, demons in humanoid form, their hands raised in ritual.
Kael's breath caught. "A Soulforge."
He had heard of them only in legends—dark relics of the first war, machines that twisted human souls into demonic fuel. If the demons had restored one here, then they weren't just harvesting souls… they were building an army.
He tightened his grip on his blade and shouted back to the soldiers. "The crystal! Destroy it!"
But the cloaked figures turned at once, their hoods falling back to reveal faces of nightmare—horns curling, teeth jagged, eyes burning violet. They raised their hands, and the mist solidified into monstrous shapes, towering golems of shadow and bone.
The ground shook as the constructs stepped forward.
Kael raised his blade, fire burning in his eyes. "Then we cut through them."
And with that, the battle for Armathis began.