The battlefield stretched out beneath the fractured moonlight, a landscape marred by violence and ruin. The remains of Darkborn littered the clearing, their forms twisted, dismembered, and broken. The earth itself was scarred—deep gashes in the soil, scorched patches where abyssal energy had seared into the ground, and jagged remnants of shattered trees standing as silent witnesses to the chaos that had unfolded.

  Faint echoes of battle still lingered in the distance, the distant clash of steel and the guttural howls of creatures unseen, but here, in this forsaken stretch of forest, there was only an eerie stillness. The shadows moved unnaturally, shifting as if reluctant to disperse, their forms flickering with residual energy. A faint, pulsing aura—what remained of the vanquished—hung in the air, a lingering weight of the abyss, an almost imperceptible heaviness that refused to fade completely.

  Boots crunched against the broken earth, hesitating at the threshold of devastation. The quintet moved cautiously, their breath shallow, their movements careful.

  Ethan, the younger of the two veteran green-ranked adventurers, swallowed hard as his gaze swept over the ruined battlefield. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his short sword, though his grip was slick with sweat.

  "Who could leave behind such a devastating wake?" The words barely escaped him, hushed as if he feared speaking too loudly would summon whatever horror had caused this.

  Beside him, Wanda took an uneasy step forward, her bow held close to her chest, knuckles white. Her eyes darted across the scene—bodies reduced to broken husks, an oppressive weight pressing against her skin. "Or what..." Her whisper trembled, the sheer scale of destruction sinking in.

  James, the sole blue-ranked among them, remained silent. His expression was unreadable, but his posture betrayed his unease. He was no stranger to battle, yet this was something else entirely. His sharp gaze scanned ahead, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his longsword. Every instinct in him screamed that they should turn back. And yet, something pulled him forward—a presence ahead, waiting in the darkness.

  Lisa, recently promoted to green-ranked, took a deep breath, her cleric’s staff glowing faintly with divine energy. She stepped closer to James, offering a silent assurance through her presence. The faint light from her staff provided a fragile sense of protection against the encroaching shadows.

  Sooji, another freshly promoted green-ranked adventurer, followed closely behind, her dual daggers held at the ready. She moved with a cautious grace, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of danger. Though new to this rank, her resolve was unyielding, and she fell into formation with the seasoned trio, determined to prove her worth.

  Together, they advanced into the heart of the devastation, united by a shared purpose and the looming threat that awaited them.

  Someone or something was still out there.

  ---

  Ethan’s breath hitched as he came to an abrupt halt, his boots skidding slightly against the earth. Wanda, equally frozen, felt her fingers go numb around the grip of her bow. James said nothing, but his posture stiffened, his shoulders squared as his hand instinctively curled tighter around his weapon.

  Beyond the ruined clearing, through the shifting gloom, he was there.

  A lone figure carved through the battlefield, his movements sharp and efficient. Gavin—though they did not know his name—fought like something out of myth, a relic of war refusing to crumble under the weight of his adversaries. The moonlight framed the chaos, casting jagged shadows over the fractured earth. His every motion was measured, every dodge calculated, but even to the untrained eye, it was clear—he was losing.

  The two Dread Wardens loomed over him, monstrous in their presence.

  Sardoc’s abyssal shield pulsed with raw energy, each impact sending tremors through Gavin’s battered frame. His daggers flashed, striking at weak points, but the shield absorbed each blow, its dark surface rippling with unnatural force. The obsidian warhammer followed in brutal arcs, carving through the air with bone-rattling weight. Gavin twisted away from a crushing swing, his boots scraping against loose debris as he narrowly avoided being flattened.

  A sudden shield bash caught his shoulder. The impact sent him careening backward, boots skidding through dirt and shattered stone. The warhammer crashed down in the space he had occupied a second ago, the ground rupturing under its force. Gavin barely had time to roll before a follow-up strike thundered down, forcing him into a desperate rhythm—dodge, pivot, retreat. The battlefield itself worked against him, every crater and jagged edge threatening to trip him as he fought to stay one step ahead.

  Then came Dralok.

  The twin-bladed Warden's movements rippled like a mirage, its weapons whispering through the air with deadly precision. Gavin met each strike with rapid, calculated parries, the impact jolting through his arms. Sparks danced as steel kissed steel, but the weight of the battle was shifting against him. Sardoc’s shield and warhammer kept him boxed in, forcing him into Dralok’s killing zone.

  A glancing slash ripped across his side. His systems registered the impact with a sharp jolt. A mistake, and the Wardens pressed the advantage.

  Gavin reeled, barely twisting in time to deflect another strike. The momentum of his dodge sent him stumbling over a fallen chunk of stone. He hit the ground hard, but the moment his back met earth, he was already moving—rolling, grabbing a handful of dirt.

  As he surged up, he flung the debris into Dralok’s face. The Warden’s head snapped back, momentarily blinded. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. In a fluid motion, Gavin sheathed his left dagger and lunged forward, both hands gripping his remaining dagger as he drove it toward the exposed gap in Dralok's armor.

  The blade struck true—then skidded off reinforced plating.

  Dralok recovered instantly, its blade whipping around in a lethal arc. Gavin barely ducked in time, the tip slicing through the air just above his head. He pivoted, aiming a strike at the Warden’s leg, but Sardoc was already moving.

  A shadow swallowed his vision.

  Sardoc’s shield came down like a guillotine. Gavin twisted, but the impact still clipped his arm, sending a jolt of force through his entire frame. The warhammer followed, and this time, he couldn’t dodge completely. The edge of the weapon smashed into his frame, the force launching him off his feet. He crashed into a jagged outcrop, stone splintering beneath him.

  He had no time to recover.

  Dralok advanced, its twin blades flashing. Gavin pushed off the rock, using the impact’s momentum to propel himself forward. The sudden movement threw off Dralok’s timing, and Gavin twisted past a deadly thrust. His left hand shot out, grabbing one of the jagged shards from the broken stone.

  A makeshift weapon.

  As Dralok turned, Gavin drove the shard into the gap beneath its arm. A crackling pulse of abyssal energy recoiled through his arm as the Warden staggered.

  The opening was brief—but he took it.

  He lashed out with his dagger, aiming for the exposed joint in Dralok’s armor. The blade struck home, sinking deep. The Warden recoiled, its movements faltering.

  But Sardoc was already there.

  The shield slammed down again, and Gavin barely wrenched his dagger free before retreating. The warhammer followed, carving through empty space where he had just stood. Sardoc wasn’t trying to kill him outright—it was cornering him, stripping away his options.

  And it was working.

  Dralok recovered, its blades rising once more. The two Wardens moved in tandem, an unrelenting tide of brute force and precision. Gavin’s counters bought him seconds at best—his world shrinking with every heartbeat, every forced retreat. His battered frame screamed for relief, but there was none. Only the crushing inevitability of their onslaught.

  Then, just as another slash grazed his chest, the assault ceased.

  Dralok withdrew, its movements too smooth, too unnatural. Sardoc stepped back, abyssal energy still crackling along its shield. The battlefield, once alive with chaos, stilled.

  And then—Dralok tilted its head, watching. Studying.

  ---

  A suffocating aura pressed against the trio’s lungs, a primal instinct screaming at them to flee—to run before those nightmarish figures turned their gaze upon them.

  Ethan swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a breath. “What is he? … He’s fighting them alone?”

  James did not answer immediately. His gaze remained locked on the battle, sharp, assessing. His fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword before tightening once more, the weight of understanding settling over him. He exhaled, steady and firm.

  “He's the only thing standing between us and them.”

  ---

  The shadows wavered around him, flickering in and out of form like a candle struggling against the wind. The Mask of Shadows—his fragile veil of deception—sputtered in response, its illusion unraveling at the edges since the battle's onset. Once able to meld him seamlessly with the darkness, it now struggled to maintain its grip, faltering in a desperate bid to conserve what little energy remained.

  Thin fractures of light revealed glimpses of the battered machine beneath. His glowing eyes, once sharp beacons in the gloom, had dimmed to a dull flicker. The hum of his internal systems, usually a steady undercurrent, was now uneven—strained. Every movement sent a whirring tremor through his frame, gears grinding as if protesting his defiance.

  His vision blurred momentarily, warnings flashing across his internal display.

  Systems failing.

  But Gavin exhaled—if only out of habit rather than necessity. The faintest pulse of energy flickered through his circuits, steadying him.

  I can’t fall yet.

  Dralok tilted its head, the movement unnervingly fluid, inhuman. Slowly, it lowered its twin blades, their dark steel hissing as they slid back into their sheaths. In place of the weapons, its dusk whip seemed to materialize in its grasp, tendrils writhing like restless serpents. With a sharp flick of its wrist, the whip cracked through the air, sending a pulse of dark energy rippling across the battlefield. The ground trembled, as if recoiling from the very presence of the weapon.

  Behind it, Sardoc loomed like an immovable fortress, its abyssal shield pulsing with latent power. With deliberate slowness, it lifted its massive obsidian warhammer and tapped it against the shield. Once. Twice. The sound rolled through the clearing, a deep, taunting boom that reverberated in Gavin’s battered frame.

  Dralok’s voice slithered through the air, each word dripping with cruel amusement. “Machine, you still stand?”

  A rumbling chuckle escaped Sardoc’s unseen lips, the sound more felt than heard. “You were a mistake,” it murmured, its voice a low rasp. “You don’t belong here.”

  Without warning, Dralok lashed out with the whip—a streak of living darkness slicing through the air. Gavin twisted at the last moment, his movements a blur of mechanical precision, but not fast enough. The tip struck his arm, sending a shower of sparks as the impact crackled with dark energy. The force pushed him back, servos whining as they recalibrated, struggling to keep him balanced.

  In a single, fluid motion, Dralok retracted the whip, the tendrils snapping back into place. It vanished into the folds of Dralok’s form, and before the darkness had fully receded, its hands seemed to hum with anticipation. Twin blades were back in its hands, their edges gleaming with an eerie, shadowed glow.

  Dralok pressed forward, striking the moment its weapons were in hand. The blades flashed in the dim light, carving through the air with deadly intent. Gavin raised his daggers just in time—steel clashed against shadow, and the impact reverberated through his already-weakened frame. Each strike forced him back, inch by inch, the relentless assault pushing him toward the edge.

  Behind Dralok, Sardoc remained motionless, an unspoken promise of destruction hanging in the air. Its warhammer rested against its shoulder, patiently waiting for the final blow.

  The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the battlefield, mingling with the fading echoes of the whip’s strike, and the unyielding clash of a machine fighting against the inevitable.

  ---

  Through the scarred remains of the battlefield, more figures emerged—hesitant, uncertain. They had been drawn by the clash, by the unmistakable force of something beyond their understanding.

  And now, as they took in the scene before them, their expressions twisted with disbelief. Horror.

  A green-ranked adventurer, Doyle, swallowed hard, gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. His voice came out in a whisper, uncertain. “Should we—?”

  “No. We wouldn’t last a second.”

  Beside him, Daphne, a blue-ranked fighter, didn’t take her eyes off the battle. Her stance was tense, controlled, but her hands curled into fists at her sides. She had fought enough battles to recognize when a fight was unwinnable.

  Her voice was grim, steady despite the dread coiling in her gut. Her gaze lingered on Gavin—this battered, relentless phantom standing against the darkness.

  “But if he falls… we all die.”

  A hush fell over the assembled adventurers, thick with the weight of dread. Even those who had fought Darkborn before, who had faced horrors as they ventured in this territory and on battlefields soaked in blood, could feel it—a suffocating, primal fear clawing at their insides.

  Doyle's breath hitched as he watched Gavin move, or rather, struggle to. Gavin was fast—unbelievably so—but his movements had lost their fluid grace. Where once his strikes had been like a wraith's, slipping through shadows with effortless precision, now there were stutters, brief hesitations. The toll of the battle was undeniable, the damage beneath the surface beginning to show.

  Ethan, gripping his bow, clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe steadily. But his hands were slick with sweat. How is he still standing?

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed as she watched the Dread Wardens advance again, their movements methodical, deliberate. This wasn’t a fight. It was a game.

  They weren’t just winning. They were savoring it.

  Dralok’s whip lashed through the air, a living tendril of darkness that cracked like a serpent’s hiss. It struck Gavin across the shoulder, the impact causing another burst of sparks and leaving a deep gash in his metallic frame. The whip's dark energy coursed through his circuits, causing momentary glitches and disrupting his internal systems. Sardoc’s warhammer scraped against his jagged shield, the grating sound setting their nerves alight.

  And yet, Gavin stood, still fighting.

  Daphne exhaled, "We watch. We bear witness. And we pray he doesn’t fall."

  ---

  Gavin’s internal diagnostics flared warnings across his vision.

  Power reserves: critical. Mobility: 23% efficiency. Damage assessment: continuous—fractured shoulder joint detected, impairing arm movement; impaired elbow joint slowing forearm responses; compromised knee joint hindering evasive maneuvers. Right arm reaction time: 0.3 seconds delay, a critical lapse in combat.

  But he couldn’t stop.

  His grip tightened around his daggers, their edges catching the faintest glimmers of light in the suffocating dark.

  Dralok struck again. The whip of dusk lashed out again, a slithering specter of shadow that came too fast to avoid entirely. Gavin twisted at the last moment, minimizing the damage, but it still caught his side, searing through his tattered tunic and into his outer plating. Sparks burst from the impact, his internal servos shrieking in protest. The damage assessment flashed in his vision. Each movement sent jolts of pain through his circuits.

  He barely had a second to recalibrate before Sardoc joined in, its warhammer a mountain of force descending. Gavin threw himself sideways, his impaired knee screaming in protest, rolling just as the hammer struck the ground once more where he’d stood. The earth cracked under the blow, a deafening impact sending a shockwave through the battlefield. He felt the vibrations rattle through his damaged joints.

  Dralok's twin blades replaced the whip in an instant, cutting through the air with lethal precision. Gavin parried with his daggers, but the delay in his right arm made each deflection a desperate struggle. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, the sinister blades tracing arcs of imminent doom. Gavin's gears whirred in his chest as he twisted and turned, his movements a calculated dance on the edge of oblivion. The battlefield crackled with energy. Each parry and evasion was a testament to his skill and resolve, but the relentless damage to his systems threatened to overwhelm him.

  Sardoc’s shield pulsed with raw energy, each impact hammering Gavin back, his joints straining under the relentless force. The combined assault of the Dread Wardens pushed him to his limits, their coordination a brutal symphony of destruction. Gavin’s determination was a flickering beacon against the overwhelming odds, every movement a fight for survival.

  “Your body falters,” Dralok taunted, its voice like silk laced with venom. “Your fight is over.”

  Gavin didn’t respond. Words were wasted energy.

  He pushed forward, daggers flashing despite the constant strain on his joints. He lunged at Dralok, feinting left before twisting right. His movements were less fluid than before, but his precision remained. His blade bit into the Warden’s side, a shallow but precise cut that made the creature snarl. Gavin's right arm lagged slightly, the minute delay making each strike a desperate effort, but he was already moving—until Sardoc was there.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A shield slammed into him like a battering ram, the impact magnified by his compromised joints. His shoulder screamed in protest, the fractured joint barely holding as he was sent skidding back. Sparks flew from his damaged plating, internal systems struggling to compensate for the relentless assault. The force of the blow rattled through his frame, his movements now more labored and pained.

  Gavin’s world blurred as he was hurled back, his systems scrambling to right themselves. He landed hard, skidding across the broken ground, his frame denting from the impact.

  Diagnostics screamed in his mind.

  Damage critical. Stability compromised.

  But as his systems reeled, as static filled his vision, he still registered one crucial thing.

  More adventurers had arrived.

  They weren’t fighting. They wouldn’t last if they tried. But they were watching.

  And Gavin understood.

  He wasn’t just fighting for himself.

  He forced himself up. Metal groaned. His body protested. But he stood.

  Dralok and Sardoc both paused, as if amused by his resilience.

  “Again?” Sardoc chuckled, hefting its hammer. “Then break once more.”

  The warhammer swung. Gavin barely had time to brace. The impact was brutal.

  He was airborne before he realized it.

  The world spun—shadows and shattered earth blurring together.

  And then—

  A figure appeared in the distance.

  The momentum carried Gavin forward, spiraling toward the new arrival.

  A fighter clad in dark, worn armor, eyes sharp as they locked onto the chaos before him. For a fleeting moment, Gavin saw only the boy he remembered. But that boy was gone. In his place stood a young man.

  Kurt had arrived.

  And Gavin was hurtling straight toward him.

  ***

  Kurt moved as Holly's magic surged through him. A golden pulse wrapped around his limbs, flooding him with a burst of speed and strength. His body moved before his mind caught up, the world narrowing to a singular purpose.

  "Holly!" he shouted, and she answered without hesitation. Another flare of magic erupted, a shimmering shield forming just as he braced himself.

  Then impact.

  Gavin slammed into him, the force rattling through his bones, but Kurt held firm. The divine barrier absorbed the worst of the collision, through the sheer weight of the machine sent his feet skidding before he locked his stance. Even with the magic coursing through him, catching Gavin felt like stopping a falling star.

  He exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip. Gavin was still—damaged, but not completely broken.

  The battlefield stank of singed metal and the acrid bite of something unnatural—Darkborn ichor, thick and cloying, seeping into the ground like oil. But worse than the stench was the weight that hung in the air, an oppressive, suffocating presence that clung to the soul, as if the very essence of the land had been tainted by the abyssal corruption lingering in the wake of battle.

  Kurt's gaze snapped upward. Shadowspawn and Darkborn minions lay strewn across the battlefield, their twisted forms unmoving. And before the two remaining Dread Wardens stood the fall husk of their kin, a brutal reminder to these Wardens of the machine that had torn through their ranks alone.

  Dralok stood motionless, its twisted whip coiling idly at its side, blades once more sheathed and nearly hidden. Sardoc’s imposing form loomed beside it, shield braced, warhammer resting in its massive hand.

  And yet, despite their dominance, they did not advance.

  A shift in the air. The tension that had held every fighter on edge did not snap but frayed—an ominous sign of something shifting beyond their understanding.

  Dralok exhaled, a sound more felt than heard. Its hollow gaze swept across the gathered adventurers, lingering just long enough to weigh their worth before moving on. There were many of them now, reinforcements drawn by the chaos of battle—but they were insignificant. Expendable.

  Then, with a deliberate slowness, Dralok lifted its arm and extended a single clawed finger.

  First, it addressed the crowd. "I will spare the rest of you,” it murmured, voice slithering through their minds like a whispered curse. “But you… and you…” Its finger shifted—first toward Gavin's crumpled form, then to Kurt, locking onto them with eerie precision. “You belong to us.”

  The words dripped with finality.

  A chill settled in Kurt's spine, heavier than fear—something deeper. A certainty. But he did not move. Did not charge. Because this was not a fight that could be won with steel alone.

  Silence clung to the battlefield, thick as oil, pressing into the adventurers like an unseen weight. Dralok’s words slithered through their minds, their finality a promise rather than a threat.

  You belong to us.

  A shift rippled through the gathered fighters—an unspoken hesitation. Many had fought alongside Kurt before, had seen firsthand his cold precision in battle, his reputation preceding him. Gavin, however, was different. They had only just witnessed the strange, inhuman construct in action, an enigma of metal and motion battling these formidable foes with eerie efficiency. He was neither man nor beast, yet in this fight, he had been undeniably on their side. Whether they trusted him or not was another matter. And yet, now faced with an offer—an escape from this unwinnable battle—many wavered.

  Some turned their gazes toward Kurt, hands tightening on weapons, not in defiance, but in reluctant calculation. Would it be so simple? Give them what they want and walk away? No one said it aloud, but the questions burned in the air like smoldering embers.

  Kurt felt it, the weight of their indecision settling in his chest. His body ached from the brutal clash that had led to this moment, and exhaustion gnawed at the edges of his focus, but his concern drifted first to Gavin. The machine lay crumpled, his metal frame marred and dented, the glow in his artificial eyes flickering like a dying ember. He was still conscious—still there—but barely.

  "...Gavin." The name left him in a breath, half in disbelief, half in something dangerously close to desperation.

  The machine's head twitched, the faintest whir of struggling gears filling the silence. His optics flickered weakly, struggling to focus, but then—

  "Jonny...?" The voice was distorted, rough with static, but unmistakable.

  Kurt's chest tightened. Four years apart, four years of longing, and this—this broken shell—was what he had found. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady.

  "Yeah," he murmured. "It's me."

  Kurt clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening slightly where they hovered over Gavin's broken frame. He was barely holding on, his once-imposing form reduced to something fragile—too fragile for the kind of choice being forced upon them.

  And that choice—Kurt exhaled sharply, his gaze shifting past Gavin to the looming figures watching them.

  Why us?

  It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that these things—these Dread Wardens—stood before them, unmoving, their presence a silent demand.

  The weight of approaching footsteps broke through the tension.

  “Kurt!”

  Pierce’s voice snapped his attention sideways. His party had arrived beside Holly—Pierce, Will, then Swan, their presence cutting through the uneasy silence like a blade. They had seen what was happening, had caught wind of the exchange, and though they lacked the full context, their eyes carried no hesitation.

  Kurt laid Gavin down gently and forced himself to stand straighter, shifting his gaze back to the two Wardens. Sardoc’s towering form remained a wall of unshaken resolve, its warhammer still at rest, but its presence loomed, promising devastation if given reason. Dralok remained still as well, but its hollow gaze had not left him, its whip coiling and uncoiling in a slow, idle rhythm.

  “You make demands,” Kurt finally said, voice low but carrying through the still air. “But do you expect anyone to believe you’ll keep your word? What’s stopping you from killing everyone once you have what you want?”

  Dralok tilted its head, a slow, deliberate motion, as if humoring a child's naive question. Then it let out a soft chuckle, the sound dry and scraping, like steel grinding against bone.

  "Stopping us?" it echoed, as though the very idea was amusing. “Nothing. We take what we want, when we want. That has not changed."

  Its hollow gaze swept over the adventurers, weighing them, dismissing them all the same.

  "But killing all of you?" Dralok continued, voice laced with something resembling amusement. "That would be tedious. Pointless. There is no need for a culling when the cattle know to stay in their pen."

  The words slithered through the air, more demeaning than any open threat. The adventurers stiffened, their earlier hesitation hardening into something colder—anger, defiance. Some reached for their weapons. Others exchanged looks that no longer spoke of uncertainty, but understanding. The illusion of a choice had shattered.

  Kurt exhaled sharply, turning back to Gavin, calculating. He was damaged, but he had survived worse.

  Gavin shifted slightly, pushing against the ground with an unsteady hand as he eased himself into a seated position. His voice a quiet murmur, was barely loud enough for Kurt and his party to hear. “I need twenty minutes.”

  Kurt frowned. “We won’t last twenty.”

  “Then ten,” Gavin amended.

  Kurt didn’t have time to argue.

  A second voice, this one cool and confident, joined them. “Give me five,” Swan said, stepping forward, fingers already grazing the edges of her grimoire. “That’s all I need to conjure something.”

  The pieces were falling into place. Ten minutes for Gavin to recover. Five for Swan to prepare. They wouldn’t get all of it—but maybe, maybe, they could get enough.

  Kurt looked back to the Wardens, jaw tightening. He had his answer.

  “Then we buy time.”

  The battle had not yet begun—but the first move had already been made.

  ---

  Kurt exhaled slowly, gripping Noctisbane tightly as he took in the battlefield. The moonlight cast long shadows, stretching over the ground, revealing the carnage in stark detail. The air was thick with the scent of ichor, steel, and death. Each breath he took tasted of iron and fear, a testament to the brutality that had unfolded.

  His gaze swept over his companions—Pierce, poised with his bow drawn, and Holly, her hands glowing faintly with magic. Will stood beside them, shield steady, his face a mask of fear but also determination. Kurt raised a hand. Not yet. The signal to advance remained unspoken, but the tension in the air was palpable, their readiness teetering on the edge of action.

  He turned back to Dralok. The Warden stood motionless, its dusk whip coiling idly at its side, twin blades sheathed but ready. The moonlight glinted off the dark, menacing metal of its armor. Behind it, Sardoc loomed like an immovable force, abyssal shield braced and obsidian warhammer resting in its massive grip. The two dread Wardens stood as embodiments of impending doom, their presence a suffocating weight on the battlefield.

  Kurt took a step forward, each movement calculated and deliberate. Noctisbane pulsed weakly in his grasp, the glow barely noticeable underneath the moonlight. His fingers flexed over the hilt. It’s enough. The blade hummed with a latent power, a promise of what it could unleash. The anticipation built with every heartbeat, the silence before the storm.

  Without warning, Kurt lunged, his blade a precise blur as he aimed for Dralok’s midsection. The Warden shifted just enough to avoid the full force of the strike, its whip snapping out in ruthless retaliation. Kurt barely twisted in time, the weapon's tip slicing across his side as he slid back into a guarded stance. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he gritted his teeth, forcing it aside—his resolve unshaken.

  That was all the signal the adventurers needed.

  ---

  Sardoc’s footstep reverberated across the battlefield, causing the ground to tremble beneath it. The obsidian warhammer dragged through the dirt like an anchor, leaving a deep groove in its wake. Its massive frame loomed over the field, an unyielding force of destruction. The moment its foot landed, Ethan moved—without hesitation.

  He lunged low, his short sword aimed at the narrow gaps in Sardoc’s armor, each strike a calculated attempt to exploit any weakness. His blade sank deep into the metal, but Sardoc barely flinched. With an almost bored motion, Sardoc twisted its shield, catching the sword’s edge and wrenching it aside, the force sending Ethan staggering backward. Before he could recover, the warhammer swung in an arc that could level him where he stood.

  Ethan stepped forward, raising his short sword in a desperate attempt to intercept the warhammer’s crushing arc. The impact struck with a deafening clang, his blade catching the hammer just enough to slow its momentum. The force reverberated through his arms, numbing them instantly, but it wasn’t enough. Sardoc’s warhammer drove through, the sheer power flinging Ethan backward like a ragdoll. His body slammed into a nearby tree with a sickening crunch, bark splintering under the force. Ethan crumpled to the ground, his sword slipping from his grasp as darkness claimed him.

  Wanda fired three quick shots, each aimed with deadly precision. But her breath faltered as she caught sight of Ethan being flung into the tree, his limp body crumpling at its base. The sight sent a tremor through her hands, and the arrows wavered slightly as they cut through the air. Sardoc’s shield shifted ever so slightly, deflecting each shot with ease. The arrows splintered harmlessly against the enchanted surface, and Sardoc remained unharmed.

  From the right, James dashed in, taking advantage of the distraction. His longsword slashed in a wide arc, targeting the gap between Sardoc’s shoulder and chest. The blade struck with a sharp clang, but the force of the blow barely registered. Sardoc absorbed it like a mountain absorbs the wind. Without a pause, Sardoc turned its shield—not to block, but to strike.

  The iron edge of the shield slammed into James’s ribs with a sickening crack. James was hurled backward, his body twisting unnaturally before he hit the ground, sliding to a stop near Lisa. He didn’t move.

  Lisa’s heart sank. Her eyes widened in horror as she knelt beside James, glowing hands hovering over his broken body. The healing light spread slowly over his ribs, but the damage was severe, and his breathing was shallow, labored. James lay unresponsive, the weight of his injuries too much to bear.

  Without sparing him a second glance, Sooji closed the distance. Her twin daggers flashed as she danced through the chaos, striking at Sardoc’s exposed joints—behind the knee, under the shoulder, along the gauntlets. Each time, her blades met resistance that felt like stone, the blows barely scratching the surface of the Warden’gs armor. Sardoc seemed unfazed.

  Impatient, Sardoc pivoted with unnerving speed, swinging his warhammer upward in a brutal uppercut. Sooji barely twisted out of the way, the hammer grazing her side. The force sent her crashing to the ground, rolling and scrambling to her feet, her breath ragged, her movements slower now.

  Ethan and Wanda exchanged a glance. The sight of their fallen comrades and the relentless force of their foe was starting to sap their resolve. The battle was becoming a test of endurance. Every moment felt like a struggle to keep their footing, and the weight of James’s broken form hung heavily over them.

  “Hold the line!” Doyle’s voice rang out, cutting through the fear. His sword gleamed as he charged forward, his roar a rallying cry for the others. He wasn’t alone.

  Daphne was first to meet Sardoc’s advance, followed closely by Hayley, their battle cries uniting in defiance. Doyle surged in beside them, his blade flashing as he struck at the Warden’s flank. Daphne’s crushing right hook aimed for Sardoc’s helmet, a feint designed to draw its attention. At the same time, Hayley lunged low with her spear, targeting Sardoc’s knee, while Doyle angled his strike for the exposed joint at Sardoc’s shoulder.

  Sardoc’s shield snapped upward with terrifying precision. It deflected Daphne’s punch with a jarring force that rattled her arm, while simultaneously twisting to knock aside Doyle’s blade. Before Daphne could recover, Hayley’s strike nearly landed, glancing off the side of the knee. Sardoc moved with unnerving swiftness, its warhammer swinging in a brutal arc. The impact crushed into Daphne’s side, fracturing her ribs and knocking the air from her lungs. The force of the blow sent her flying, her body skidding across the ground.

  Her scream tore through Doyle, but there was no time to think. Sardoc’s shield spun suddenly, catching him across the side of his head with a bone-jarring impact. The world exploded into stars and pain as Doyle staggered, his grip slipping from his sword. Blood ran down the side of his face as he crumpled to his knees, his vision blurred and swimming. The sharp ringing in his ears drowned out the chaos around him.

  Her scream was drowned out by the sound of the hammer’s follow-up swing aimed straight at Hayley’s skull. Just as the blow descended, a golden shield of energy flared to life, intercepting the attack with a deafening clash but shattering just as quickly as it formed. York stood at the back, chanting fervently, his face etched with strain.

  Sardoc’s assault didn’t stop. With relentless force, the Warden moved toward Daphne, who was struggling to rise. It drove its knee into Daphne’s gut, sending her crumpling to the ground in agony. Blood sputtered from her lips as she gasped for breath, her body folding in on itself. Doyle, dazed and barely conscious, could only watch as she fell, a guttural cry of frustration escaping him as he tried to force his body to move.

  Then, with terrifying swiftness, Sardoc returned to Hayley, still dazed by the earlier attack. She barely had time to react as Sardoc’s next strike came—a sweeping blow of the warhammer aimed directly at her.

  But this time, the shield-bearer Jer was there. Built like a fortress, Jer slammed into Sardoc’s side, his shield raised high. He had saved Hayley from the hammer's crushing blow, but she fought to stay upright as the world spun around her.

  The force of Jer's impact barely shifted the Warden, but it was enough to momentarily stagger it. His shield cracked under the pressure, splintering into pieces. Sardoc responded with a violent pivot, its own shield crashing into Jer’s chest with crushing force.

  Jer was sent flying backward, the air driven from his lungs as he slammed into the earth. Blood trickled from his mouth as he struggled to breathe. The blow had been too much—Jer did not rise.

  Carter, undeterred by the carnage, lunged with his spear. He aimed for the narrow gaps in Sardoc’s armor, his strikes calculated and precise. But Sardoc, unfazed, swung its shield to intercept. The haft of Carter’s spear was caught, wrenched violently to the side, and ripped from his hands. Sardoc’s backhand came next, slamming into Carter’s chest and forcing the air from his lungs. Carter stumbled, vision spinning, gasping for breath.

  Ian and Leon moved in as one, their swords flashing from either side. Sardoc raised its shield, blocking Ian’s strike with a resounding clang. In the same motion, the Warden swung its warhammer, sending Ian sprawling across the battlefield. Leon pressed on, aiming for Sardoc’s side, but the Warden pivoted, bringing its shield down with bone-crushing force. Leon’s sword arm was trapped against Sardoc’s armor, and with a brutal twist, Sardoc wrenched it free.

  The sound of snapping bones echoed across the field as Leon screamed in agony, his sword slipping from his grasp. His arm hung limp, shattered in multiple places, as he collapsed to the ground in shock.

  Reed and Doug rushed in, trying to exploit the opening. Doug’s battle-axe swung wide toward Sardoc’s knee while Reed took the opposite flank. Sardoc twisted just in time, Doug’s axe glancing harmlessly off the Warden’s armor. Sardoc’s eyes glinted with malice as it seized the opportunity.

  With a fluid motion, the warhammer came down with all its might. Doug’s scream was swallowed by the impact as the hammer crushed his chest, ribs shattering and bone fragments piercing through his flesh. Blood poured from his mouth, his body crumpling to the ground in a grotesque heap.

  Reed barely had time to react before Sardoc’s shield whipped around, smashing into the side of his head. The blow was enough to crush Reed’s skull, blood and brain matter splattering across the field. His body collapsed next to Doug’s, their lifeless forms adding to the growing pile of fallen adventurers.

  Randal, a veteran warrior with a greatsword, roared in fury as he swung with everything he had left. The blade met Sardoc’s armor with a heavy thud, but the Warden retaliated with terrifying speed. The blunt end of the warhammer slammed into Randal’s chest, lifting him off the ground before sending him crashing back down. His body remained still.

  At the rear, Zachary, seething with desperation, unleashed a volley of firebolts, each aimed directly for Sardoc’s face. The first bolt struck true, flames licking at the Warden’s helm. For the first time, Sardoc took a step back—not in pain, but in amusement.

  The flames evaporated almost instantly, absorbed by the abyssal armor, leaving only smoldering embers. Sardoc stood unfazed, his eyes glinting with malicious delight.

  The adventurers were losing.

  Despair sank into their hearts. Ethan gripped his sword tighter, the weight of their futile efforts bearing down on him. Wanda’s bowstring trembled as she nocked another arrow, her resolve faltering with each shot that deflected effortlessly off Sardoc’s shield. Sooji’s breath was shallow, her movements slower, more deliberate. Every strike felt like a hollow attempt, the reality of their situation pressing down on her.

  Lisa’s healing light flickered. She and York moved from one fallen adventurer to the next, doing what they could to keep their comrades alive. But the weight of it all was too much. Even York, his chants faltering, could feel the crushing burden of hopelessness. His protective spells barely held together, and his face betrayed the fear that was beginning to claw at him.

  Zachary, with his last ounce of hope, prepared another spell. But his heart sank as he realized the futility. The firebolts felt insignificant against the power of the Warden. Each one that fizzled out only deepened the despair gnawing at him.

  The battle had become a massacre.

  And the Warden knew it.

  Sardoc lifted its warhammer, the weapon dripping with the blood of those it had struck down. It tilted its head, as if considering the effort of finishing them off entirely.

  Then, with slow, deliberate steps, it turned.

  Toward Kurt.

  This battle was not about survival.

  It was a warning.

  A demonstration.

  A show of just how insignificant they all were in the face of the Dread Wardens.

  And Sardoc was only just getting started.

  ---

  Beyond Kurt’s own engagement, another group of adventurers attempted to flank Dralok. A young sorcerer, draped in deep blue robes, staggered as he raised his staff. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the House of Jace sigil embroidered on his robes glimmered faintly. He began to channel a spell—but it never came to fruition.

  In the span of a heartbeat, Dralok moved. One moment, the Warden was still. The next, it was a blur of shadow, a streak of darkness cleaving through the battlefield.

  A lash of pure abyss whipped through the air. It met no resistance. The sigil on the sorcerer’s robes tore apart, the fabric unraveling as his body crumpled inward, crushed from within. He never had the time to scream.

  A pair of warriors closed in—one clad in gleaming armor, sword held tight, the other in fitted leathers, moving with calculated precision. Seth and Lance, fighters both, were undeterred by what had just transpired. They moved without hesitation, driven by the need to protect their own.

  Their weapons struck, but Dralok was faster.

  The Warden’s twin blades flashed, a single, fluid motion. Lance staggered, a sharp exhale escaping him. Confusion flared as his own body continued to move without him—his head, severed cleanly from his shoulders, rolled across the ground. Lance’s vision blackened.

  Seth’s breath caught in his throat, the horror of his friend’s sudden death paralyzing him. He stared, unable to process the body crumpling, lifeless, to the dirt. The chaos of the battle seemed to blur, everything falling into a void of disbelief.

  Before Seth could act, a powerful strike from a mace crashed into the Warden’s plated armor. The impact reverberated through the battlefield, a deep, resonant clang echoing through the air.

  Chris’ eyes widened in disbelief. The armor appeared untouched, the crushing blow having left no visible mark on the abyssal metal. The momentary lapse in his defense—his hesitation—cost him dearly. A blade, swift as thought, pierced his chest with deadly accuracy. The steel cut through flesh and bone, emerging from his back in a violent spray of blood. Chris’ roar twisted into a strangled gurgle, his body collapsing in a heap.

  Seth’s mind reeled, his sword trembling in his hands. He saw Chris’ lifeless form in front of him and understood the futility of it all. He and Lance had been too slow. Too reckless.

  Lake, the last of their group, an archer who had barely let an arrow loose, stood nearby. Her gaze mirrored Seth’s—wide-eyed and uncomprehending, caught in the impossible reality of their situation.

  Then Dralok’s gaze turned upon them, cold and calculating. The Warden’s whip, coiled like a living thing, struck. Once. Twice.

  With each crack, another body fell.

  As the battle intensified, a chill began to seep into the air.

  Kurt saw it all.

  There was no time to mourn. The battle moved forward, relentless and unyielding.

  Holly worked beside him, her healer’s robes torn and stained. Her hands trembled as she traced urgent sigils in the air, the faint glow of each spell casting a soft light in the encroaching darkness. She poured her magic into the wounds inflicted by Dralok’s whip, her face pale but determined. Every spell took something from her, but she pressed on, driven by the weight of lives on the line.

  Pierce moved like a shadow, his bow a blur of deadly precision. Each arrow he loosed kept Dralok from closing in entirely, forcing the Warden to react. The first arrow struck true, but it splintered against the Warden’s abyssal armor, barely making a mark.

  Pierce’s eyes narrowed in frustration. The armor itself was a wall—he needed to find a weakness, an opening. He adjusted his aim, targeting joints, the gaps, the face. With each shot, he took a calculated risk, knowing that only a clean hit could turn the tide. He didn’t relent. His focus sharpened, his every move a means to buy time for his comrades.

  Beside Kurt, Will stood tall, his shield a fortress against the dark tide. Each dent, each scratch in the shield bore testament to the fury it had deflected. Will’s posture was unyielding, a mountain against the storm of violence. Sweat mixed with grime on his brow, each drop marking the effort it took to hold the line. His eyes scanned the battlefield, every muscle taut with the knowledge that they could not afford to fail.

  Kurt, battered but unbroken, stood alongside him.

  "Kurt!" Holly’s voice called out to him, desperate and full of fear, but Kurt didn’t pause. His hand went to her shoulder, offering brief reassurance.

  “There’s no time,” he said, his voice steady. He turned back toward the Warden, unflinching. “Protect Will. York, tend to the others.”

  Holly’s eyes shimmered with concern, yet her hands moved with practiced precision as she wove protective spells. She knew this fight wasn’t just a test of strength—it was a test of their bond, of everything they’d fought for.

  The warriors were like clockwork and in control. Kurt’s mind, sharp as a blade, analyzed every movement, every strike. Will’s shield absorbed the fury of Dralok’s attacks, his body straining but unyielding. Kurt’s strike followed with ruthless accuracy, each one landing just where it counted.

  Will met Dralok’s twin blades with his shield, the shockwaves rattling through his bones. The Warden’s assault was ferocious, its blades falling like an unstoppable torrent. But Will didn’t flinch. He planted his feet, gritting his teeth as his armor groaned under the pressure. His knees bent, a shielded stance honed by countless encounters.

  Above them, the clouds thickened, obscuring the moonlight and casting the battlefield into darkness.

  The Warden’s relentless attack pushed Will to the brink, each strike demanding his full strength. Then, with a practiced move, Will shifted his weight slightly to the left, forcing Dralok to overextend in its assault. Holly, sensing the shift, whispered incantations, and a barrier flickered into place just in time to soften the impact of Dralok's powerful blow. The barrier absorbed some of the force, preventing Will’s shield from buckling and creating a momentary lapse in the Warden’s rhythm.

  Kurt saw the opening. The Warden’s focus shifted for a split second as it recalibrated its attack, a moment of vulnerability. He lunged, Noctisbane raised high. The ethereal glow of the blade flashed as it collided with the joint of Dralok’s armor, sending a small tremor through the Warden. It recoiled, but only for an instant—the armor absorbed most of the blow, leaving little more than a faint crack as a reminder.

  The battle raged, ebbing and flowing like a storm. Kurt’s strikes quickened, a relentless barrage that kept Dralok on the defensive. Will’s shield never wavered, always in the right place at the right moment. Their synchronization was a testament to their time spent together, and yet, Kurt couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. His eyes darted to the environment, the shifting shadows, the faint echo of distant movement. They were being pushed—tactically—but there was more at play than just brute force.

  Dralok, realizing it couldn’t overpower them with sheer might, began to shift its strategy. It thrust at Kurt, a deadly, calculated movement. Kurt parried, but the blow sent vibrations down his arms, leaving him momentarily staggered. The Warden followed with a thrust aimed straight for his chest.

  Will was there in an instant, a flick of his shield redirecting the strike with a deafening clash. The momentum pushed Will back a step, but he held firm, his shield pressed against the oncoming assault. It wasn’t just the weight of the attack; it was the weight of the battle, of the lives at stake. Each blow, each parry, carried the weight of their decisions.

  Holly’s arcane energy surged through them, a last burst of magic that propelled Will forward. He forced Dralok’s sword arms wide, creating an opening. Will’s muscles burned, but the magic coursing through him gave him the strength to push on.

  Kurt, ever the strategist, saw it—the opening was fleeting, but it was there. Will’s shield bash had left Dralok momentarily vulnerable once more. Kurt raised Noctisbane high above his head, gripping the hilt with both hands. With a determined roar, he brought the blade down in a powerful, two-handed downward slash aimed at Dralok’s shoulder. The ethereal light of Noctisbane flared brilliantly as it descended, a streak of glowing energy cutting through the air.

  Dralok's eyes flared with an unnatural glow, sensing the incoming strike. In a desperate move, it raised its twin blades in a cross guard, hoping to block the devastating blow. The impact of Noctisbane meeting the Warden's blades was deafening, sending a shower of sparks cascading around them. Though the Warden deflected the strike, the effort left it unbalanced. Seizing the moment, Will pushed forward with a forceful shield bash to Dralok's chest, driving the Warden back a step and leaving it vulnerable. Kurt, following instinct, struck quickly, his blade finding a gap in the Warden's armor, and with a sickening crunch, a deep crack split across Dralok's chest.

  The Warden staggered, stunned by the force of the strike. For the first time, it felt exposed.

  The crack in its armor deepened, and Kurt understood. The Warden was not invincible, not yet. But it was dangerous—dangerous enough to cause them to question their next move. Kurt’s mind raced. He could feel the change in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

  Without warning, Pierce struck from the shadows. His arrow flew like death incarnate, finding its mark just above Dralok’s eye. The impact didn’t pierce the skull, but the dent it left was enough to stagger the Warden further, throwing off its balance.

  Seizing the opportunity, Will surged forward, using Holly’s magical boost to his advantage. He forced Dralok’s sword arms wide with a powerful push of his shield, exposing the Warden’s chest. Kurt prepared for a killing blow, his eyes locked on the target.

  Noctisbane descended with lethal intent, but before it could strike true, Sardoc's abyssal shield interposed itself with brutal efficiency. The shield met Kurt’s blade with a thunderous clash, the force of impact sending a cascade of sparks into the air. The sheer power of Sardoc’s block reverberated through Noctisbane, rendering the blow ineffective. Sardoc’s timely intervention shielded Dralok from the fatal strike, forcing Kurt to stagger back and reassess the unfolding battle.

  As the tension built, the temperature dropped considerably. A chilling wind swept through the clearing, and the first drop of rain fell, marking the arrival of a storm that mirrored the chaos of the battle.