The mages embedded within the rebel forces were the only reason they hadn't collapsed under the relentless onslaught.
Yet, the flow of battle was changing. The soldiers of Heieg, a force of nature in their own right, began pushing back.
If the will of those from Ophris burned hot like wildfire, then Heieg's was something else entirely. Bold, unyielding, like polished steel.
Their hardened discipline, their relentless iron will, threatened to break the resistance apart.
Towering war machines stood like fortresses amidst the tide of bullets and blood, a grim testament to Heieg's military might.
Lugh found himself struggling to keep up on the front lines.
Lyra had been forced to reveal her mystical hair more times than she'd like, her strands writhing and slithering like living serpents, reacting to the rhythm of combat as though dancing to a tune composed of nothing but death.
Each strand coiled and struck with unnatural precision, a grim symphony of destruction.
"Retreat!"
