The ground shook as our ranks collided.

  The arrowhead formation struck the horde like a spear driven into rotten flesh—shields crashing, steel biting, holy light erupting as Murasa’s maul came crashing down in a blinding arc. Each impact rippled outward through the clearing. Murasa forced more of his goddess’s divine energy through himself, his eyes blazing as a jagged halo shimmered into being above his draconic horns.

  Haizen’s twinblade screamed with unyielding rage, his silver-and-gold plate a stark contrast to the berserker he had become. Barton stood protected beside Celeste at the heart of the formation, fingers flying as he traced ancient runes across his holy tome, reinforcing our defenses and empowering our advance.

  Celeste herself stood within a swirling maelstrom of gold and teal mana, channeling her magic into her conjured beasts. Three large, jellyfish-like constructs drifted into the enemy ranks—formed of luminous gold energy veined with translucent blue tendrils that trailed beneath them. Any creature they touched convulsed as violent light surged through its body, lightning-like and merciless, before collapsing into a charred heap.

  Watching them fight was like watching living legends. For the first time in my life, I was witnessing the true strength of gold-ranked adventurers. The sight stirred awe within me—nearly enough to drown out the lingering guilt from my earlier outburst—but there was no time to dwell on regret.

  I strung an arrow and loosed it without hesitation.

  It punched through the roof of a creature’s mouth as it lunged toward one of the remaining Lantonian soldiers, piercing straight through its skull. The monster dropped in a twitching heap.

  On to the next.

  The corrupted surged forward in waves, climbing over their fallen without pause. Claws shrieked against Bront’s shield as he braced himself and roared defiance.

  “PUSH!” Selene shouted.

  We moved as one, straining to gain even an inch of ground.

  Kaela broke left, spear spinning as she carved a narrow path through grasping limbs. Lyria stayed close at my side, her staff flaring as she incinerated vines before they could coil around my legs. I held position beside Kaela and just behind Bront’s shoulder, drawing and firing until my fingers burned and my vision narrowed to nothing but targets and motion.

  This wasn’t a fight.

  It was pressure—constant, suffocating, relentless.

  Barton’s healing prayer had granted me a bit more time and flexibility, but my strength wasn’t bottomless. Fatigue crept along the edges of my vision and dulled the snap in my muscles. I couldn’t simply overpower the Fell.

  I had to outmaneuver them.

  I looked to the convulsing horde before us, then past them—to the Fell sorcerers looming atop their ruined spires. Each pulse of warped energy seemed to ripple outward from them, threading through the battlefield like a heartbeat. I had a sinking feeling that without those two anchors, the horde would lose its cohesion… maybe even stop altogether.

  But how could we reach them?

  “We need to take down the sorcerers—!” Lyria called, as if reading my thoughts, before hurling a bolt of blue flame into the mass threatening to spill around Bront’s flank.

  “Aye!” Selene shouted back, her rapier flashing with energy like living lightning. “But we can’t get to them with all these bodies in the way!”

  I scanned the shattered structures lining the clearing and spotted it—a precarious route along half-collapsed stonework leading toward the left spire. Narrow. Dangerous.

  Possible.

  “Oi—Yukon!” Kaela yelled over the din. “We could use some heroics right about now!”

  I sidestepped just in time as a chunk of stone sailed through our ranks, smashing into the vinework barricade behind us. That was when it truly sank in—we hadn’t advanced more than a few paces. We were boxed in, slowly being crushed beneath sheer numbers.

  I glanced again toward Murasa and the Knights of Golden Light. They were fighting with everything they had, but for every husk or Fell creature they cut down, two more seemed to take its place. Jango and his shield-bearer held the line beside them. Jango wielded his longsword like an extension of his own body, movements fluid as he carved through plant matter and monster alike. Beside him, the cannon mounted in his companion's shield roared again and again, blasting open tunnels through the horde—only for those gaps to be stitched shut moments later by writhing vines and crawling bodies.

  Their environmental advantage was overwhelming.

  Darron, much like Selene, struggled to operate at the very front. Their speed and agility were better suited to surgical strikes, so they remained within the spearhead, eliminating anything that slipped through the cracks.

  On our side, Bront stood like a moving bulwark, shoulder to shoulder with another soldier. Kaela worked just behind them, spear thrusting through the narrow gaps between shields with brutal precision.

  We were holding.

  Our formation was strong.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  I knew Kaela was half-teasing, but my jaw still clenched at her words. I wanted nothing more than to call on Lun or Ten and carve a straight path to the sorcerers—but I couldn’t afford recklessness. I was running on fumes. When I called on them again, it had to be at the right moment.

  The decisive moment.

  My gaze drifted back to the crumbled stonework on our left.

  “I… I may have an idea—!” I shouted.

  Lyria, Kaela, and Selene all turned toward me. Bront didn’t—he couldn’t—but I knew he was listening.

  “If we can cut a path to that half-collapsed building,” I said, pointing about fifteen paces to our left, “I think I can reach the sorcerer on that side—”

  Lyria followed my gaze, her eyes widening. “No way—! That’s suicide!”

  “She’s right, Yukon,” Selene added grimly. “I’m not sure we could even get you there if we tried!”

  Kaela looked tempted—but before she could respond, Bront grunted under renewed pressure, and she turned back without a word, redoubling her efforts as the horde surged again.

  Before I could argue my case, a familiar voice cut in from out of nowhere—calm, steady.

  “I like it,” Darron said, stepping into view with an easy nod. “I’ll go with him.”

  Lyria glared, but I set my jaw and gave her a reassuring nod.

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  Selene and Kaela seemed to accept it, though neither offered any words.

  Ahead, Bront’s shield rang again—then again—each impact driving him a half-step back for the first time since the battle began.

  That got my attention.

  The half-orc’s breathing had changed. I could hear it even over the din—deep, ragged, building in his chest like a furnace being stoked. Veins stood out along his greyish forearms as he planted his feet wider, tower shield lowering just a fraction.

  “Bront—?” Selene started.

  He answered with a sound that wasn’t a word.

  It was a growl—low, ancient, and furious.

  Bront slammed the rim of his shield into the earth, and the ground answered.

  A red-orange glow crawled along the etched runes embedded in the shield’s face, bleeding outward like molten veins. His massive muscles swelled visibly beneath battered armor as something primal tore free inside him—orcish rage, raw and untamed.

  “Yukon—!” Bront rumbled, voice thick with strain, “I’ll open a path!”

  He surged forward.

  Not charging—colliding.

  The shield bash landed like a battering ram, a concussive shockwave exploding outward in a perfect arc. The front ranks of the horde didn’t fall—they were thrown, bodies snapping back as vines and bone alike shattered under the force. The earth cracked, dust and corruption blasted skyward, and for a heartbeat—

  There was space.

  A corridor.

  “NOW!” Bront roared.

  Darron was already breaking into a sprint.

  I didn’t think—I moved, vaulting past Bront and running down the temporary corridor.

  We burst through the opening together, boots pounding over broken stone and twitching remains, but the gap began closing almost immediately. Vines lashed out from either side—

  —and were severed in a flash of steel.

  Selene flew ahead of us, rapier a blur of light and motion, her blade crackling with energy as she carved a clean path through grasping limbs and lunging husks. Every strike was precise, economical—no wasted movement.

  Kaela took the other flank.

  She didn’t dance like Selene.

  She dominated.

  Her spear spun in wide, brutal arcs, smashing aside anything that got too close, the haft slamming into skulls while the blade punched through armor and sinew alike. She planted herself between us and the horde like a living wall, laughing once—sharp and wild—as she drove a Fell beast back into the mass.

  “Don’t slow down!” she barked. “We’ve got you!”

  Something screamed overhead.

  Blue moonfire shaped into small falcons incinerating whatever dared remain in our way.

  I risked a glance back just in time to see Lyria plant her staff into the ruined soil.

  Mana surged.

  A sigil I’d never seen before flared beneath our feet.

  Go—

  Her voice sounded as if it were echoing inside my head, I had to suppress the smile it almost pulled out.

  The ground shimmered—and suddenly our next strides launched us forward, each step carrying us impossibly far, momentum compounding as the spell folded space just enough to cheat distance.

  I laughed breathlessly as we cleared the last stretch in seconds.

  Behind us, the corridor collapsed in a tangle of bodies and vines as Bront and the others absorbed the counterattack.

  Ahead—

  The ruined spire loomed.

  And atop it, the Fell sorcerer turned.

  Red skin. Towering frame. Black robes whipping in the warped wind as its glowing eyes fixed on us.

  It raised a clawed hand.

  The pulse intensified.

  The battlefield screamed.

  Darron slid to a stop beside me, blades coming up as he glanced my way, grin sharp despite the blood streaking his face.

  “Well,” he said calmly, “guess that got its attention.”

  I raised my bow, heart pounding—not with fear, but certainty.

  “Good,” I said.

  And together, we charged the spire.

  The ruins lurched the instant we committed.

  Stone screamed.

  The first staircase buckled beneath my foot, steps shearing away mid-stride. I jumped without thinking, clearing the gap as the stairs collapsed into grinding rubble behind us.

  I blinked back at it, stunned for half a heartbeat.

  “These bastards can control the buildings too…?”

  Darron was already ahead.

  “Up!” he barked.

  We took the next structure at speed—a broken rooftop slanted like a ramp, slick with corruption. My boots skidded. I windmilled once, caught myself on a jutting column, and ran again as the stone shifted under my feet.

  The sorcerer moved.

  A pillar punched up through the roof directly in front of us.

  We split without speaking.

  Darron vaulted left, blades flashing as he rebounded off a crumbling parapet. I went right, leaping a gap that widened as I jumped, stone tearing itself apart beneath me. I caught the ledge—barely—nails scraping against ancient stone as my legs dangled over the two-story drop. I hauled myself up with a strained grunt and kept running.

  No stopping.

  No looking back.

  The ruins stacked upward now—half-stairs, shattered balconies, collapsed halls forming a jagged ascent toward the spire on our side. We ran them like a madman’s staircase, feet pounding, lungs burning, every step threatening to become the last.

  The ground tilted.

  Not gently.

  Violently.

  The entire building lurched, pitching backward like it was trying to throw us off its spine as we tore through an open corridor. I almost reached the axis point before it tipped too far and I lost my footing. I fell forward, dug my fingers into a crack, and hauled myself up the growing incline. Finding a foothold, I kicked off and pulled with everything I had, swinging up over the ledge and onto the side of the building as stone flaked away in my grip.

  Darron slid past me, skidding on one knee, then kicked off a window ledge without hesitation and launched to the next structure. I followed suit.

  Stone pillars began ripping free from walls and walkways like latticework, shooting out to crush us as we pressed forward. I vaulted one while Darron slid low beneath another. The next caught me square in the ribs, launching me straight off the building.

  For a split second, I was weightless.

  Thanks to Darron’s uncanny reaction time, his hand managed to close around my wrist before I fell too far, yanking me back onto the stone as hard as he could, and our charge didn’t slow.

  Ahead loomed the final ruined archway, and beyond it, a fractured stone bridge connecting the last structure to the spire itself. We could see the Fell sorcerer clearly now—green eyes burning with malice, veins pulsing in his red forehead as he stared down at us from above.

  I knew he’d try to stop us here, where we were most exposed.

  I nocked an arrow instantly as Darron slid to a halt beside me.

  The air thickened.

  The bridge groaned, ancient stone grinding as cracks spiderwebbed across its length. Power gathered around the sorcerer, the runes along the spire flaring as Fell energy answered his call.

  “On my mark,” Darron said, low and fast.

  I drew.

  The bowstring hummed, Lunae stirring in my chest as I sighted through the collapsing trusses, straight at the figure above.

  Darron moved first.

  He lunged forward onto the arched bridge just as it began to give, blades flashing as he kicked off falling stone—

  —and I released.

  The arrow screamed upward, cutting through dust and fractured light as the world itself began to tear apart beneath us.