The Manticore advanced slowly, each step making the ground tremble beneath its massive paws. Its burning golden eyes fixed on the camp with cruel intelligence, and its dark breath filled the air with an aura of death. The sentinels on the ramparts instinctively stepped back, their weapons trembling in their hands. Even Dahlia, trying to maintain her unwavering demeanor, tightened her grip on her halberd, her muscles tense like drawn bowstrings.
Cliff felt adrenaline surge through him, knowing he was facing the source of all his problems—the enemy responsible for so many deaths among his ranks. The one who had, until now, hidden behind its army had finally bared its fangs. Yet, he remained calm.
His wings twitched slightly, ready to deploy at the first sign of danger. He knew this creature was no mere beast to be slain. It was a Scourge—an ancient, devastating entity—and it would not be easily defeated.
