The army was vast and large. Oh, they really rolled out the unholy red carpet for us this time.

  From my perch on the wall, I surveyed Irwen’s little assault party, and… If there was ever a fashion show for horrors dragged straight out of someone’s nightmare and stitched together with malice and poor life choices, this was it.

  Front and center, we had the [Bone Reavers] and [Foot Soldiers]. The standard hit wall until wall breaks crowd.

  These different soldiers looked like they’d been pulled from an enthusiastic compost heap, wielding rusted blades like they wanted tetanus. These guys didn’t even bother with helmets. Bold choice.

  Maybe they wanted to regenerate the top half of their heads just for fun.

  And the Bone Reavers? Double axes, double armor, double not giving a damn. They stood there like they were posing for a Fear Is for Mortals calendar shoot, immune to fear, probably immune to fashion sense too.

  Flanking the sides like sneaky little vermin were the [Doom Riders] and [Hellhounds], revving up for a dramatic ride around and stab you in the back maneuver.

  Well, thank god our tactic has us staying on the wall.

  The [Hellhounds] were just glorified Duwin’s demon poodles, agile and definitely the kind of pet that would eat your neighbors. The [Doom Riders], though? Walking skeletons on skeletal horses. Very meta.

  Very edgy.

  I bit my lip as I tilted my head back to take in the sky above the approaching horde. Damn, they really committed to the air superiority flex today. The clouds were practically vibrating with demonic wings and bad intentions.

  “Do we have enough fire-teams?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended, eyes locked on the growing swarm. The sky looked like someone had given a bunch of caffeinated hornets wings and weapons.

  Mila stood beside me, arms folded, his gaze sharp and focused as if trying to calculate the exact moment everything would go to purgatory. “Yes,” he nodded, tone grave. “We’ve divided the wall into three zones. Each has three fire-teams, rotating spells. Should hold, assuming discipline.”

  Assuming. I didn’t like that word.

  I squinted against the sun; the light catching the [Sky Reavers] as they zipped and darted through the air like demented hornets with a javelin hobby. They flung their cursed projectiles as if physics were more of a suggestion than a rule.

  The javelins arced in lazy spirals, trailing streaks of sickly green smoke, and my gut clenched just watching them.

  And then… them. The [Shriekers].

  I winced as their piercing, wailing cries cut through the air like some sadistic DJ scratching chalkboards. Imagine a banshee with performance anxiety, I thought bitterly. Just screaming their metaphorical lungs out, not for terror or death, but for maximum annoyance.

  Disruption, disorientation, discombobulation, check, check, and double check. I already felt a migraine blooming in my temples.

  “Thanks, guys,” I muttered, glaring at the sky. “Exactly what I needed. A flying headache and airborne trauma. Lovely.”

  I glanced back over the wall at our troops below, players and soldiers alike, some confident, others clearly trying not to show their panic. This was going to be fun. In the being punched repeatedly by demons’ kind of way. I shook my head and glanced at the army.

  Behind the disarray of the demon army, their caster squad was lined up like the world’s worst band.

  The [Blight Mages] were throwing corrosive hexes to the air like they were confetti. Sick bastards. The [Corpse binders]? Oh, they just recycled, specifically, us. Raise the dead, drain energy, and possibly your will to fight. Lost your friend to a random arrow? Surprise! Now you need to kill them! Sustainable, but in a horrifying way.

  In reserve, waiting like divas for their moment to shine, were the [Revenant Knights] and [Ruin Warlocks].

  The actual threats, let’s be real.

  The [Revenant Knights] looked like someone asked, “What if we made death into a fashion statement?” and then handed them magical lances. Their job? Smash through anything that holds.

  Fantastic.

  And [Ruin Warlocks]? To ruin the ambiance.

  Yeah, their formation was charming: smash through the center with brutal melee, hug us to death on the flanks with mounted psychos, and rain hell from above while their mages made sure we suffered every step of the way. And when things got dicey? In come the knights and warlocks, to clean up and break spirits.

  Real cozy.

  I heard hurried footsteps behind me, rapid, and definitely Lola in work-mode footsteps. I turned just in time to see her rush up, slightly out of breath, her papers nowhere in sight for once.

  Emergency level: serious.

  “Lady! Use this ring,” she panted, thrusting a silver band into my hand, its blood-red stone catching the morning light.

  Before I could stop myself, I grinned, wide. “I do.” Lola blinked at me, exhausted eyes not computing my brilliance. “I want to marry you,” I added solemnly, as if we were in the middle of a romantic play instead of preparing for mass demon murder.

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  There it was, the purest, most powerful facepalm in recorded history.

  She didn’t say a word, just walked away, muttering something under her breath about stupid nobility and probably filing paperwork on my idiocy later. I wasn’t a princess in reality though, so she was in her role even in the rage mode.

  Mila, however, was smiling. He got it. My people. Still grinning, I turned the ring over in my palm and examined it.

  I blinked. “Oh. OH!” My voice cracked into a laugh. “I’m stupid. I forgot something as trivial as this…”

  I slipped it onto my index finger, where it pulsed faintly against my skin like it was waiting to ruin someone’s eardrums. Immediately, I felt the subtle hum of magic form a switch in my mind, easy to flick with a whisper of mana.

  Just a nudge… and I could shout down walls. Hopefully. Hopefully, because that name was either very literal… or I was about to become the world’s most tragic mime.

  The demon army finally halted about a mile from the fortress, the ground groaning under the sheer weight of steel, bone, and unnatural muscle.

  As they settled into place, their formation didn’t. Twitching, shifting, restlessly pacing, like a tide of barely restrained violence. It wasn’t just me who had trouble keeping people in line; Irwen’s army looked about two seconds from eating itself out of impatience.

  And then, as if conjured by sheer drama, Irwen emerged. She didn’t march. No, that would imply effort.

  She strolled from the center of the demon horde like she was attending a garden party, long silken robes billowing with every step, her silver crown glinting in the daylight like a personal spotlight. She radiated power, mythic and untouchable, and walked straight toward us.

  Oh right, the declaration of war. I bit my lip, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight, and tried to gather my composure.

  That lasted a whole two seconds before an arm slung casually over my shoulder. “Charlie, ‘sup?” Katherine grinned at me with that lazy, cocky smile, the one that never failed to lighten my chest. Her perfect storm-blue eyes met mine, and without thinking, I threw my arms around her in a hug.

  She stiffened for a second, then wrapped her arms around me, her grip firm and grounding, just as at our first meeting.

  Then WHAM, Lisa slammed into us like an overexcited puppy with no regard for personal space. We staggered under the weight of her enthusiasm, but thanks to Katherine’s brick-wall-like sturdiness, we stayed upright.

  “We’re the best!” Lisa giggled into my neck, breath warm and voice low, her arms squeezing tight. “You are the best. I’m so glad you’re here, Charlie.”

  I didn’t deserve them. But I had them, and I wasn’t letting go.

  “Stairs again?” Katherine asked, eyebrow raised as she finally pulled away.

  Right. Business.

  I took a step back, wiped the faint moisture from my eyes, and glanced toward the waiting army of nightmares. “Ya… Charlie, Ice, ‘kay?” Kit added.

  “Ah—right!” Mana flared at my fingertips, cool and precise. I reached into the ground’s moisture, yanked it skyward, and sculpted it with ease. A staircase of crystal-clear ice spiraled from the top of the wall down to the battlefield, each step glistening like glass under the sun. Not just functional, but elegant.

  Why? Well…

  Riker was funding a full-blown TV broadcast of this insanity.

  Naturally.

  Earlier, a notification pinged in the corner of my vision, politely requesting permission to film my event. My event. That sounded real. My event for public consumption. I barely spared it a glance before swiping it away.

  Whatever. Let them watch.

  The battlefield was already swarming with them, players decked out in matching blue clerk-uniforms, practically glowing in the morning light.

  They darted around like hyperactive beetles, cameras on, catching angles like this was a fashion shoot and not a war zone. Before I descended, I saw like one guy even crouched dramatically in the mud. Another blue-cap waved frantically to another, trying to capture the perfect shot of me descending the ice stairs.

  Right, because that’s what people need, a cinematic shot of me getting vaporized by my mythic-level mom.

  I let out a snort and kept walking, my skirt fluttering like I was in some epic fantasy flick. If they wanted a show, I’d give them one. It was only the three of us this time.

  We’d debated, of course. I wanted to go alone, noble, stupid, dramatic. They all insisted on coming with me, protective, stubborn, opportunistic, and just as dramatic. The compromise? Bring the strongest.

  Lisa and Katherine. Although, I banned her from streaming the conversation. She was sad for ten seconds, before already forgetting it.

  We descended together, steps crunching underfoot, breath fogging slightly in the chill. The demon horde stood silently. Watching. And Irwen, my mother, waited, still walking toward us with unhurried grace. Matching our pace. Matching my heartbeat.

  Matching the fear, I wasn’t sure I could hide.

  We met in the no-man’s-land between the fortress wall and the seething edge of the demon army, a field of tall grass. Each step toward her felt like crossing an invisible threshold. Irwen stood there already, waiting, her beautiful hair catching the sunlight like a halo.

  And then she smiled.

  Not just at me. At us. And even bowed slightly, a graceful incline of her head that felt like a royal favor given upon peasants. “I’m glad to meet the best friends of my daughter,” she said.

  Lisa narrowed her eyes, scanning Irwen with the intensity usually reserved for scammers trying to sell you fake whiskey. “Wait…” she squinted, flicking her gaze between me and Irwen. “I thought it was a joke or, like, a weird roleplay thing, but…” her jaw dropped slightly. “Is she also a player and your mom?!”

  “For real?” Katherine snorted, practically hiccuping on her words. “Yar so cool!” She looked like she’d just found out I had a secret dragon lair and never told her.

  I could feel it then, something squirming in my chest, warm and fuzzy and terrifying. Like they weren’t just talking to Irwen, but about my mom. And somehow that made this terrifying queen feel real. It was real. She was real. “It’s complicated, but… yeah,” I admitted, voice a little too soft, trying to process that this was actually happening. That they were meeting my mom, even if only in this context.

  Then Irwen dropped that bomb with a glint in her eye, “I hope you’ll take good care of her… and find her a suitable husband.”

  They both lost it. Full-on belly laughter.

  I, on the other hand, was melting into a puddle of mortified rage. I could feel the heat rising up my neck like molten lava. “Mom!” I gasped, my voice cracking like a preteen at a school recital. “The declaration, please?!”

  So, that’s how it feels.

  “Right, right,” she chuckled, sidestepping with a dancer’s grace and turning her attention to the fortress wall. She gave it a quick once-over, as if appraising a sandwich someone hastily made. “Is that… all your army?” she asked, her voice full of polite disbelief.

  I sighed. “One imperial doan,” I gestured behind me, “and kind of two, three more, with adventurers cobbled together. Mom, are you crazy?” I flailed a hand at the massive demon horde. A wall of black steel, bone, and nightmares. “This isn’t a light attack. This is like... is that an entire host?!”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, voice sweet as sugar, smile innocent enough to make angels suspicious. “The Dreadmarch Host.” She let the name settle like a stone dropped in a lake, and then, twisting the knife, added, “You said you could handle it.”

  I blinked. She… wasn’t wrong. She just weaponized my own words.