The Silvan Bastion smoldered under a gray dawn, mist torn by flashes of fire and magic that lit the ruins of the breached wall. The courtyard's living trunks pulsed with glowing sap, dripping like emerald blood into the churned mud, where kobold and elf corpses lay trampled, broken husks in the mire. The air reeked of ozone, scorched metal, and charred flesh, a stench that coated the tongue like ash. From the central tower's balcony, Ardyn stood, black armor faintly gleaming, his sword propped tip-down like a silent vow. His green eyes, sharp as flint, pierced the chaos below. The main gate, a bulwark of logs thick as houses, was reduced to smoking splinters, shattered by Valka's spear. Beyond the gap, the colossus roared—a hulking mass of living wood and twisted metal, its crystal eyes blazing green embers, each step a tremor that shook the earth.
A sharp creak sliced the air. An elven mage, robe tattered and blood-streaked, stumbled up the balcony stairs, gasping as if he'd sprinted through the forest. "My lord!" he stammered, dropping to his knees, a crumpled scroll quaking in his hands. "It's… it's Kael. He betrayed us."
Ardyn's gaze didn't waver, his face a mask of cold steel. "Kael," he said, voice low, a blade's edge. His fingers tightened on the sword's hilt, leather creaking. "He thought he could break me." He stepped forward, the mage flinching back, knees buckling. "What did he say before he fled?" The mage's voice cracked: "Th-that the Bastion falls… that Renn will crush us." Ardyn's lips curled into an icy smile. "Crush us," he echoed, savoring the word. "We'll see."
He turned, eyes sweeping the horizon, resolve unshaken. Kael, my shadow, my forged blade, he thought, betrayal a dull ache in his chest. You don't know my will. You don't know Darion. He'd faced worse—armies, treachery, endless nights of despair. This was just another storm. His mind ticked: of 1,500 soldiers, 400 had fallen in recent clashes, and now 200 deserted with Kael, leaving 900—500 elven warriors, 300 kobolds, 100 elite archers and mages. Enchanted arrows were scarce, crystals nearly spent. But Darion, his champion, was worth more than a thousand traitors. The Bastion would endure.
Darion Veltharis stood nearby, an elven figure in black armor etched with whispering runes, his short, ashen-gray hair tousled by the wind, green eyes piercing like daggers. His longsword hung at his hip, vibrating with contained power. "Kael took a quarter of our strength," Darion said, voice calm, measured, a strategist weighing odds. "Nine hundred remain—five hundred elves, three hundred kobolds, a hundred elites. Supplies are thin. Renn smells blood."
Ardyn met his gaze, equal to equal. "Let him smell it," he said, voice ice. "Kael was my subcommander, Darion, molded by my hand. His betrayal changes nothing. Renn's nuns are a nuisance, not a threat." He paused, eyes glinting. "What's your read?"
Darion's lips twitched, a faint smirk. "Renn's bold, hitting us now. His siren's chant is trouble—disrupts our mages. We hold the wall, keep the colossus central, and flank with archers. If we overcommit, he'll exploit it." His tone was steady, a counselor's clarity. "We need the mages sharp, not drained."
Ardyn nodded, approval flickering. "Then make it so. Fortify the wall, archers on the ramparts, kobolds in the courtyard. No cracks." Darion inclined his head. "Done." Ardyn turned to Eryndor, mage captain, gripping his runic staff, eyes resolute. "Eryndor, charge the colossus. Every crystal we've got, pour it in." Eryndor raised his staff, runes flaring green. "It will be done, my lord."
The hall surged with motion. Darion strode forward, barking orders, his voice a thunderclap rallying troops. "Archers, ramparts! Kobolds, courtyard! Move!" Boots pounded, the colossus's machinery groaned like a waking beast. Mages hustled, crystals flickering, while archers scaled the walls, bows set. The floor quaked as the colossus stirred, its roar rattling torches. Elves whispered prayers, fear thick, but Darion's command steadied them, a blade cutting through panic.
Eryndor stepped up, staff glowing. "For the Bastion!" he called, voice firm, a beacon in the storm. A green spell burst, light wrapping the troops, bracing their resolve. Kobolds hushed, elves tightened grips on bows. Ardyn gave a faint nod, respect glinting. Eryndor was his anchor, Darion his edge—together, they'd hold.
Ardyn faced the field, sword in hand. "Kael," he murmured, "you think you've cut me. Renn thinks he'll bury me. Fools." The scarred plain stretched before him, a graveyard of craters and snapped trees, recently razed towers still smoldering. His 900 troops lined the courtyard, faces pale, spears clutched. Darion moved among them, a shadow directing with calm precision, his presence a steel thread in the chaos.
The colossus loomed beyond the wall, 7 meters of wood and metal, crystal eyes blazing, runes pulsing like veins. Ardyn raised his sword, voice slicing the air. "Not so fast, you fool!" he shouted. "This isn't over!" But a low hum cut through—Valka's chant, a challenge vibrating in the earth. The fight was on.
A kilometer away, in a clearing where mist swirled like a torn veil, Renn stood, cloak flapping in the chill, eyes locked on the colossus roaring past the broken wall. Lilith clung to his right, wings buzzing with white light, her laugh a sharp dare. Seraphina, at his left, glowed like a beacon, white robe untouched by the wind. Valka, behind, raised her spear, her chant echoing, while Nyra, Melisa, and the other Templars formed a deadly arc, weapons flashing with faith that burned the fog.
A golden flare burst before Renn, a radiant screen floating, visible only to him. Fiery letters formed, sharp as divine will:
[System: Lord of the Sacred Order, someone dares defy your greatness. A traitor has weakened the foe, but the wooden colossus threatens your glory. Destroy it and claim the Silvan Bastion as proof of your power. Reward: Unique Summoning Seal. Failure: The shadow will grow. Time remaining: 12 hours.]
Renn quirked an eyebrow, a crooked grin creeping up. "System's at it again with its games," he grunted, voice dry with amusement. Lord of the Sacred Order was an old hat by now, but the mission? That was fresh. "Unique Summoning Seal," he muttered, eyes narrowing. Could be a new nun, a power to shatter limits. But the failure… "The shadow will grow," he said softly, a chill snaking down his spine. "Talk about a kick in the pants, huh?"
Lilith leaned in, wing brushing his arm, red eyes twinkling with mischief. "What's the System whispering, my lord?" she purred, playful. "Another show for us? That colossus? Pfft. Kindling waiting to happen."
Renn snorted, grin widening. "Yeah, 'cause toppling a walking mountain's just Tuesday." He glanced at Valka, who nodded, spear primed. "Twelve hours. Gotta hustle."
Seraphina stepped up, voice cold as frost. "The colossus is their last play, my lord. Strike now, and Ardyn falls with it. Your glory demands it."
Renn nodded, eyes fixed on the Bastion. The colossus roared, shaking the earth, but Valka's chant answered, a wail promising blood. "Let him shake," Renn growled, fist raised. "We're coming for him."
The field before the Bastion's shattered wall was a ravaged wasteland, steaming craters scarring the earth like festering sores. Splintered trees bled emerald sap, pooling in mud strewn with kobold and elf corpses, their armor cracked like empty shells. The air stank of ozone and blood, a blade scraping the throat, clouding the eyes. Mist frayed under a pale dawn, baring the ruined wall, its jagged trunks dripping green venom that hissed against the ground. At the chaos's core, the colossus loomed, a 7-meter titan of living wood and twisted metal. Green runes pulsed like diseased veins, its core—a sickly sun in its chest—blazed with fury, and its crystal eyes burned. Each step cracked the earth, its mechanical wail rattling bones.
Valka strode from the dust, a white bolt slashing the gloom. Her armor gleamed, scales flashing like pearls torn from the deep. Her silver hair danced free, and her ice-blue eyes cut with surgical rage. The spear in her hand hummed, its tip quivering with an edge that seemed to cleave the dawn. "Machine!" she roared, voice a thunderclap slicing the chaos, echoing to the Bastion. "You're nothing before my lord!" The cry thrummed in every chest, a defiance chilling the blood.
A kilometer off, Renn raised a fist, halting the Templars. Lilith hung on his arm, wings buzzing, red eyes glinting. "Look at your siren, my lord! Bet she splits it in half!" Renn chuckled, nudging her. "Only if you don't make it dance first." She winked, flicking a shadow that tripped a straggling kobold with a pitiful squeal. "Warm-up act!" she sang. Seraphina, robe still as stone, nodded coldly. "She's his will forged in steel." Renn grunted, eyes on Valka. "End it."
Valka charged, boots churning mud, spear blazing like a comet. The colossus struck, a fist the size of a wagon carving a fifteen-meter crater, the boom shaking the field. Splinters and rocks flew, kobolds screamed, crushed under debris, elves slammed against the wall, cries lost in dust. Valka spun her spear, deflecting the fist with a clang ringing like a cracked anvil, redirecting it to the ground. The impact kicked up stones, and she leaped onto one, springboarding into a whistling arc. Her spear sank into the colossus's arm, ripping a plate that spewed black sap, its acidic hiss searing the air with rot.
The colossus roared, runes flaring, knitting its arm with a creak. It swung again, splitting the earth into river-long cracks. Valka danced, agile, spear shrieking through the air. She stabbed its elbow, splintering metal, and vaulted onto a rock flung by the blow, hurling it with her spear—a bullet whistling into the colossus's shoulder, drawing a mechanical groan that prickled skin.
From the balcony, Ardyn stood, sword resting on the railing, black armor glinting. Darion flanked him, ashen-gray hair tousled, green eyes scanning the field with a strategist's calm. As Valka's shockwave rocked the ground, Ardyn didn't blink, eyes tracking each strike, jaw set. "Impressive," he said, voice low, laced with disdain. "But she's no match for us, Darion."
Darion's gaze narrowed, calculating. "Her chant's disrupting our mages," he said, voice steady, a counselor's clarity. "She's fast, precise—Renn's banking on her to crack our center. We hold the wall, keep the colossus as bait, and hit their flanks with archers. Force them to overextend." His tone was confident, a partner in command.
Ardyn's lips twitched, a faint smirk. "Agreed. Draw her in, let her tire. Then you strike." He pointed his sword at a mage. "Reinforce the colossus's runes. Shield the archers." The mage scrambled off. Ardyn faced Darion, equal to equal. "Kael thought he'd wound me. Renn thinks he'll bury me. Fools, both of them."
Darion nodded, turning to the troops. "Archers, ramparts! Kobolds, courtyard! Hold!" His voice cut like a blade, rallying the lines with precision.
Troops faltered. Kobolds tossed spears, fleeing, slipping in bloodied mud. "It's a demon!" one shrieked, crushed by a rock. Elves fell back, swords shaking, faces pale. A mage raised a spell, but Valka's chant—a low hum throbbing in their ribs—snuffed it. "We can't!" another stammered, collapsing, bow snapping.
Eryndor stepped up, staff glowing, eyes steady despite Valka's might. "For the Bastion!" he shouted, voice firm, raising his staff. A green spell burst, light wrapping the troops, steadying shaking hands. Kobolds hushed, elves gripped bows tighter. "We're no prey!" he cried, runes pulsing, his will a bulwark. Darion's eyes flicked to him, a grunt of respect.
The colossus countered, steps splitting earth, swallowing kobolds in cracks. It spewed green spores from its core, a poison choking the air, kobolds falling with gurgled screams, skin blistering. Valka twirled her spear, a whirlwind of water and blue light purging the venom with a roar that split the haze. She leaped, using a rock as a launchpad, and stabbed the colossus's chest, inches from its core. The crack gushed sap, but it knitted shut, runes blazing. Valka was lightning, her spear a blur of stabs slicing like scalpels, each gash straining the machine's magic. "Fall!" she cried, voice a mystic blade.
It fired a green beam, searing the air, melting mud to glass. Valka deflected it with a twirl, the blast torching elves who screamed, crumbling to ash. She sprinted, dodging a punch that split a tree, hurling a shrieking rock that splintered the colossus's leg. She landed before the core, blood dripping from a gash on her arm, pain burning her skin. She gasped, eyes blurring for a moment. Not for me, she thought, Renn's face flashing in her mind. For him. She raised her spear, chant roaring, and charged.
Ardyn watched, unyielding. "Crush her," he hissed, voice cold, eyes narrowing. The colossus faltered, its core flickering. She's fierce, he thought, but Darion's ready. Mages on the wall, sweat-soaked, poured magic, faces taut.
Valka spotted a crater, black sap bubbling like poison. She thrust her spear skyward, a blue bolt striking the pool. The explosion unleashed a toxic cloud, engulfing the colossus, runes flickering, movements sluggish. She dashed, leaping between rocks, each a whistling missile splintering wood. She drove her spear into its chest, the crack widening, sap flooding with a venomous hiss. The core pulsed, runes blazing, but she spun, stabs slicing runes like threads, magic failing.
The colossus roared, fists crashing together, a twenty-meter crater erupting, rocks flying like shrapnel. Valka danced through, spear deflecting a green beam scorching the air. Heat grazed her arm, blood dripping, but she held firm. "Your pride is your grave!" she shouted, dodging a wooden scythe sprouting from the ground, slicing it with a twirl. She leaped, spear a white comet, plunging into the core. A shockwave roared, a kilometer of fury kicking up dust, kobolds and elves tumbling like leaves. The core cracked, its sickly light flickering, the colossus staggering.
But it held. A creak echoed, ground quaking. The core flared, a green pulse lighting the field. Sharp branches sprouted like scythes, encircling Valka, a new arm growing—long, with metal claws raking the air. "I won't fall!" roared a voice from the core, not Ardyn's, but the machine's, a corrupt echo freezing blood. The dawn turned green, an alien force stirring.
Valka raised her spear, chant humming, eyes blazing. "I'm not done," she whispered, the field trembling for her next strike.