"So," Kalem began, glancing around at the high walls of the frontline fortress, "I have an entire separate section here to myself... and I'll be pulling an entire unit's worth of work?"
The orcish officer in front of him didn't blink. His dark green face remained stoic, heavy brows drawn like a curtain over sharp, pragmatic eyes. "Correct. You've been designated as a pseudo-unit, which means you operate independently and handle assignments typically reserved for squads. We don't have the manpower to spare. You're the next best thing."
Kalem sighed. "I'm flattered, really."
The orc handed him a weathered parchment. "Here's a reference sheet—these are the types of monsters you're likely to encounter. You deploy in two hours. Head east. There's a wave building, and we need you to reinforce the flanks. Don't be late."
As the officer walked away, Kalem unfolded the parchment and began reading the notes scribbled with blocky handwriting. The paper was covered with surprisingly well-drawn sketches and short descriptions of monsters.
"Depth Howlers," he muttered, eyes narrowing. The drawing was crude, but detailed enough to convey the creature's horrific features. Hunched, doglike things with skeletal faces. Their skulls split vertically when they howled—literally opened like jaws—and their backs were lined with quivering spines that vibrated with unnatural frequency.
Kalem read further. "Howls disorient and fragment mental focus. Best countered with instant disruption or ranged suppression."
"And Mawborn..." His eyes moved down to the second illustration. These were towering monsters, heavy with muscle and stone plates. Their torsos were gaping maws filled with constantly grinding teeth. Like walking furnaces, they consumed rock, metal, and flesh alike to fuel regeneration.
"Lovely," Kalem muttered. "Big, loud, and ugly."
Two hours later, Kalem stood at the eastern ridge, high above a broken plain scarred by old battlefields. The land below was a warped mess of shallow craters, twisted trees, and rusted weapons half-buried in the dirt. The wind carried a faint stench of rot and burnt iron.
From the far end of the field, the horizon shimmered. Dust clouds rose like a fog, and the distant shapes of the oncoming wave began to take form. First the Depth Howlers, low and swift, their limbs scuttling over the uneven terrain with jerking motions. Behind them, slow-moving silhouettes—hulking Mawborn—dragged their massive frames with tremor-inducing steps.
Kalem stood calmly, adjusting his grip on the black-hilted longsword at his hip. The blade glowed faintly red, veins of heat pulsing along its edge. "Right then," he said to no one, "let's see how you hold up."
As the Depth Howlers entered range, Kalem took a practiced step forward and swung. The air ignited as a wide arc of fire launched from the blade's edge, roaring toward the charging creatures. The flames hit the front lines and engulfed them in a crackling inferno.
But the moment he completed the swing, his wrist twisted at the wrong angle. The blade, unstable from the disorientation, slipped from his grip and was flung several meters into the air.
Kalem blinked. "Right... forgot about the roar."
Even from a distance, the psychic scream from the Depth Howlers hit like a hammer. It wasn't loud in the usual sense. It struck inside his skull, sending his vision momentarily spinning.
Kalem extended his hand and flexed his fingers. A moment later, the fire sword spun back through the air, magnetized to his grip by a binding rune. "Thanks, enchantment number five."
Still, he frowned. "Not viable in this condition. Too reliant on stability and focus."
He slid the fire sword back into its sheath and reached for another weapon on his belt—one he hadn't used in combat yet.
A sleek rapier with an unusually thick blade, pale white with a strange, almost crystalline shimmer. The guard was minimal, the grip wrapped in bleached leather, and faint etchings ran along the fuller like frozen vines.
Kalem drew it slowly, feeling the hum of its resonance.
"This'll be perfect for testing you."
The Depth Howlers, burning but not stopped, were now climbing over the corpses of their own kind, advancing with teeth bared and skulls open like hideous masks.
Kalem lifted the rapier, pointing its tip toward them. "Bloom."
The blade pulsed.
A moment later, the ground in front of Kalem erupted in a violent cascade of white-blue frost. Ice spread outward like blooming petals, jagged and razor-sharp. Spikes burst from the ground in tangled patterns, impaling the first line of Depth Howlers mid-charge. A few screamed—then gurgled—as frozen spears punched through their bodies and pinned them in place.
The temperature dropped sharply. Kalem exhaled, watching his breath cloud in the air. The wave of frost didn't stop there. Ice began to snake along the ground toward the slower-moving Mawborn.
One of the creatures roared, the gravelly sound echoing from its churning maw. It stomped forward, absorbing chunks of metal embedded in the battlefield as it approached, its body healing cracks in its stony skin as fast as they formed.
Kalem didn't wait for it to reach him.
He focused the rapier again. "Second layer."
The frost at the tip glowed brighter, then jutted forward in a spiraling cone. It slammed into the Mawborn's chest. The creature halted as the frost hardened around its torso, attempting to encase the maw completely. The grinding teeth began to slow, struggling against the freezing pressure.
Kalem pressed forward, maintaining the surge. "Can't kill it this way, but I can slow you down."
From the side, another Depth Howler tried to flank him, but Kalem caught the motion with peripheral vision. With his off-hand, he drew a smaller blade and threw it—twiststeel. The blade curved midair, spinning once before embedding clean through the Howler's eye socket.
As the monster dropped, Kalem turned back to the Mawborn just in time to see it shatter the frost holding it back. The maw split wider and let out a deep, resonant rumble as it charged forward again.
Kalem narrowed his eyes.
He let the rapier drop and reached for the crimson spear strapped to his back. The moment his hand touched it, the resonance pulse triggered. Crimson light danced across the spear's shaft as he readied it for the kill.
"Let's see how well you hold up against piercing force."
By the time the wave ended, the eastern flank was a field of shattered ice, charred earth, and crumbling stone.
Kalem stood amidst it, breathing slow and steady, weapons sheathed.
"Fire sword needs better balance under mental stress," he muttered to himself. "Whip's still too unstable for use here... Rapier passed. Spear—lethal, but not enough force for Mawborn's central core."
He glanced toward the horizon, already planning. "I'll need something heavy. Big. Punches through armored cores..."
As the sun dipped low in the sky, Kalem turned and headed back toward his section of the fortress.
There was still work to be done.