From their vantage point in the city, Kalrith and Valen stood side by side, both watching the chaos unfolding beyond the ruins.
Kalrith's sharp eyes didn't flinch as the ground quaked under the weight of the Harbinger's hand crashing down, but her focus never wavered from Thal. She had seen him fight before, but this... this was something else. His power was palpable even from here, a primal force that seemed to push back the very essence of death itself.
Valen's gaze narrowed, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Impressive," he muttered, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes respect.
Kalrith's eyes flicked to him briefly, her tone cutting through the tension. "You're not as distracted by his show of power as others. What do you think of him?"
Valen raised an eyebrow, his hand absently tightening around the hilt of his sword. "He's more than just a brute. The way he stood there, he didn't just stop the attack he redirected it. Not many can do that. I'm starting to think that guy's more than just muscle."
Kalrith didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on Thal as he held the Harbinger's hand at bay, his body straining but unbroken. The Kruu'Strata were moving swiftly below them, and the sounds of battle echoed in the distance, but it was Thal who dominated her thoughts.
"I'm not surprised," she said quietly, more to herself than to Valen. "He's Nephilim. You don't become one of them without learning how to survive things most can't even fathom."
Valen chuckled darkly, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and wariness. "If anyone can handle that monstrosity, it's him."
Kalrith's expression remained unreadable as she clenched her fists at her sides, her sharp eyes never leaving Thal's figure in the distance. A tense breath passed between them, the sounds of distant battle filtering in, pulling their focus toward the wider chaos. "Then let's make sure he doesn't have to do it alone."
The moon hung high above the city, casting an eerie silver light over the chaos that was consuming the streets. The dead, once scattered and disorganized, now swarmed with an insatiable hunger, pressing toward the heart of Kel. Their twisted forms shuffled through the cobblestones, and the air was thick with the scent of decay.
Valen moved like a shadow, his boots silent on the rooftops as he leapt from building to building, his eyes scanning the streets below. The sounds of battle were louder now, the clash of metal and the screams of the dead rising in the night. He could feel the pulse of the conflict growing stronger with each passing moment. He had to get down there, to help turn the tide.
With a final, graceful leap, he dropped from the rooftop, landing with catlike agility. His feet barely made a sound as he hit the ground, immediately drawing both blades. His eyes flashed as he surveyed the oncoming horde, his stance ready for the inevitable.
Beside him, Kalrith descended like a falling star. She didn't waste time with stealth or grace. With a single, powerful leap, she arced through the air, her greatsword raised high. As she hit the ground, the impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, her blade slicing through the dead in its path. Flesh and bone were torn apart with brutal precision as she stood tall, the weight of her weapon balanced effortlessly in her hands.
Valen grinned, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of admiration and thrill. "That's one way to make an entrance," he said, stepping forward to join her. His blades flashed in the moonlight as he cut through the first wave of the undead, his movements fluid and precise.
Kalrith didn't respond, her focus entirely on the battle at hand. Her greatsword swung in wide arcs, cleaving through the undead like a storm, each strike sending bodies flying. The night was alive with the clash of steel and the guttural moans of the risen dead, but there was no hesitation in her actions. She was a force unto herself, cutting through the chaos with a cold efficiency that mirrored Thal's earlier stance.
Valen fought alongside her, his quick strikes and agility complementing her raw power. Together, they formed a deadly duo, cutting a path through the sea of the undead as they pushed forward to help secure the city's defences.
Under the full moon, the night was filled with violence and fury and for Valen and Kalrith, it was a dance of survival. Beyond them, the battlefield shifted, drawing Na'reth and the Kruu'Vesp into the unfolding chaos.
The battlefield around them seemed to pulse with an unrelenting rhythm, a symphony of death and destruction as the undead continued to swarm the city. But in the midst of it all, Kalrith and Valen moved with a fluidity that made it seem almost effortless. Their movements were seamless, like two parts of a whole, anticipating each other's actions as though they had fought together for years.
Kalrith's greatsword swept through the air with deadly precision, cutting through the masses of undead with powerful, sweeping arcs. Each strike was like the swing of a hurricane, sending decaying bodies flying in every direction. Her focus was razor sharp, her mind consumed only by the battle.
But she wasn't alone.
As she brought her blade down in a wide arc, Valen was already in motion. With a swift jump, he vaulted over her, using the momentum of the jump to slash at the nearest undead from above. His blades danced with speed and grace, cutting through the air like a blur. As his feet touched the ground behind Kalrith, he slid to the side, narrowly dodging the swipe of an undead's gnarled claws.
"Watch your back," he called out, his voice steady even amidst the chaos.
Without hesitation, Valen raised his blades to strike, the two swords clicking together with a sharp, resonant sound. The magic imbued within them flared briefly, sending a pulse of energy that radiated outward, sending a shockwave of force that blasted apart the undead surrounding them.
Kalrith's eyes flickered with approval, her battle instincts kicking in. As Valen took his place beside her, she shifted her weight and spun her greatsword in a wide arc, clearing the space in front of them. In the split second it took her to complete the movement, Valen was already at her side, striking down any undead that tried to flank her.
Together, they were a deadly whirlwind. Kalrith's raw power and Valen's speed complemented each other perfectly. When her swings left openings, he filled the gaps, slashing at enemies trying to slip past her. And when she needed to create space, Valen's magic enhanced strikes cleared the way.
For all their differences, they fought with a unity born of necessity. Kalrith's brutal strength and Valen's agile precision formed a deadly dance that overwhelmed the undead at every turn. Their movements were instinctive, an unspoken understanding between them that made them more than just allies they were a force, unstoppable in their relentless pursuit of victory.
Valen slid into position behind Kalrith, his eyes scanning the battlefield for more threats. "Keep them coming," he said with a smirk, his breath steady despite the carnage around them. "I've got your back."
Kalrith nodded without a word, her expression focused and unwavering as she prepared to strike once more.
From a distance, Valen's sharp eyes caught sight of Na'reth, high above the chaos, her presence a beacon of power amidst the tumult. The way she moved effortless, precise, and almost unnatural was something to behold. Her greatsword cleaved through the dead with terrifying speed, each strike a masterful display of skill. She wasn't just fighting she was commanding the battlefield, as though the very air around her bowed to her will.
The Kruu'Vesp soldiers, agile and ferocious, darted through the sky like living shadows, their insectoid wings beating in unison as they tore into the undead ranks. But it wasn't just the fighting that stood out Valen could see them swooping down to pluck civilians from the streets, saving them from the oncoming tide of death. Their speed and efficiency were almost unmatched, their movements synchronized as if they'd been at war their entire lives.
On the ground, the Kruu'Strata warriors fought with a casual brutality that sent a shiver down Valen's spine. These soldiers were an embodiment of raw strength, their massive forms towering over the dead as they carved through their ranks with terrifying ease. One warrior, with a single swing, sent a dozen undead sprawling across the cobblestones, his face a mask of focused determination. The Strata didn't fight like others they didn't need finesse just pure, unrelenting force.
And then there was Na'reth, cutting through the battlefield as though it were nothing more than a sparring match. Her crimson eyes gleamed with focused intensity, and her every movement was a testament to the years of training and power she had honed. She was in a class of her own, fighting like an elemental force, sweeping the undead aside without breaking a sweat.
For a moment, Valen couldn't help but admire her. There was no doubt in his mind that, even with his own skill and strength, Na'reth could likely outmatch him in any fight, even with the dead swarming around them. But there was no envy in his gaze, only respect for the sheer might she wielded. She was, in every sense of the word, a leader a force of nature.
Valen refocused as another group of undead surged towards him and Kalrith. "I'll keep the pressure on," he muttered, his voice low but determined. The sight of Na'reth's battle prowess only steeled his resolve. If she could hold the line with such ferocity, so could he.
Despite their relentless efforts, despite the fury of steel and magic that rained down upon the undead, the tide of death seemed endless. The streets of the city, once bustling with life, were now eerily quiet save for the sounds of battle the clash of blades, the sickening crunch of bones, and the gut wrenching cries of the dying. Children screamed for their parents, their voices high pitched and desperate as the horrors of the night closed in around them.
In the distance, a mother's cry echoed through the chaos, her arms outstretched as she tried to reach her child, who had already fallen beneath the weight of the undead. Parents shouted in horror as their sons and daughters were dragged away, their faces a mix of helplessness and anguish. The cries of the innocent pierced the air, each one a reminder that no matter how hard they fought, there would always be casualties in this war.
Then, just when they thought they might begin to turn the tide, the freshly dead began to rise.
The ground seemed to tremble as the fallen corpses of those who had just been slain clawed their way back to life, their vacant eyes burning with an unnatural hunger. Their bodies, half rotten and covered in dirt and filth, shambled forward with a grim persistence. The very air seemed to thicken with the stench of decay, and the moon above hung low in the sky, casting a cold, oppressive light over the battlefield.
For Valen, Kalrith, and the others, it was a brutal reminder of the true horror they were facing. No matter how many they killed, no matter how many they saved, the dead kept coming. It felt as though the city itself was trying to swallow them whole, the earth beneath their feet shifting as if the very land mourned for the lost souls trapped in this nightmare.
Valen's breath came in heavy pants as he cleaved through another corpse, his eyes scanning the field. It was a losing battle a fight against something far larger than they could ever hope to defeat. The dead were not just numbers they were people. They were mothers, fathers, children, neighbours, friends.
And for every life they saved, ten more would fall.
In the chaos, Valen's mind flashed to Na'reth and the Kruu'Vesp, but even their skill and speed couldn't save everyone. The city would never be the same after this night. And worse, the enemy they faced wasn't just flesh and bone it was an endless tide of sorrow, of despair.
And still, they fought. Not because they could win, but because they had no choice but to keep pushing forward, even as the world around them crumbled.
As Valen and Kalrith's deadly dance tore through the ranks of the dead, the sounds of battle stretched across the city, pulling attention toward another corner of the chaos. There, a deeper rumble seemed to shake the earth itself, a heavy, thunderous rhythm that belonged to no human soldier. Tar moved through the streets with brutal efficiency, his massive double headed axe cleaving through the dead with each swing. The weight of the weapon was nothing to him he wielded it like an extension of his own fury. His hooves, striking the cobblestones with the force of a hammer, sent shockwaves through the ground with each stomp. He moved with an almost predatory grace, his every motion calculated and ruthless as he protected the civilians who had managed to find temporary shelter.
The Kruu'Vesp, their wings beating like the storm, swooped down from above, delivering terrified civilians to Tar's side, depositing them out of reach of the advancing undead. With their agility and precision, the insect like warriors carried those too weak or too young to defend themselves, dropping them safely into the streets or onto makeshift barricades where the civilians could take cover. Tar, with his intimidating form and unyielding strength, stood between the fleeing civilians and the encroaching undead, like a living wall of death.
The dead came from all sides, their twisted forms shambling toward the survivors with mindless hunger. Tar grunted as another pair of corpses lunged at him, their rotting hands grabbing for his thick arms. Without hesitation, he swung his massive axe in a wide arc, cutting the first one in half and then punching through the second's ribcage with his free hand, crushing its chest beneath his fist. The corpse's body collapsed to the ground in a heap, but Tar didn't stop there he stomped on its head, reducing it to a bloody smear under the weight of his hoof.
Every time another group of civilians arrived, the Kruu'Vesp dropped them off at the edge of the streets, trusting Tar to shield them. Tar's eyes, burning with a mix of anger and determination, never wavered. He was built for this this moment of destruction, where he was the immovable force against the storm. His every move was deliberate, taking out the dead before they could close in on the civilians, his hulking form taking up as much space as possible, ensuring no one could get through him to the innocent.
The fight was brutal, but Tar knew the stakes. Each swing of his axe, each crushing blow with his fists or hooves, was a defence against more lives lost. It was instinct now the need to protect, to shield those too helpless to fight. He stomped again, crushing a corpse underfoot, then swung his axe down to cleave through a pair of undead who had gotten too close to a group of civilians hiding behind a barrel.
Through the chaos, he could hear the cries of the frightened, the wail of children, the desperate calls for help from those who had already lost so much. But he didn't let that slow him. Tar had no time for fear. Every scream, every cry, only spurred him to fight harder.
More bodies fell. The undead kept coming. But Tar didn't waver.
With no one in front of him, no ally to protect, Tar embraced the primal fury that had long been part of his nature. Alone in the streets, surrounded by the growing tide of the dead, he became a force of nature untamed and relentless. His movements were pure instinct, fuelled by his beastly form and the unshakable drive to protect those who couldn't defend themselves.
The Kruu'Vesp had done their part, dropping civilians off from above, clearing the skies and making sure they were far enough from the carnage. Their sharp eyes ensured that no one was left vulnerable, allowing Tar to work without distraction. The dead surged forward, but they weren't prepared for what came next.
Tar's double headed axe swung with a speed and force that defied its size. Each strike came like a storm, the heavy blade biting into the undead with terrifying precision. His hooves slammed into the cobblestones, propelling him through the mass of bodies like a juggernaut. No one could stop him. He tore through them with savage efficiency, leaving only mangled corpses in his wake.
His free hand became another weapon, crushing the heads of the dead with terrifying strength. Tar was no longer just fighting he was a predator hunting down prey. The roar of his fury echoed through the streets as he crushed, sliced, and stomped through the horde.
There were no enemies to his sides. No one to slow him down. It was just him and the dead.
His movements grew more feral, his rage unchecked. The air around him was filled with the sounds of broken bone, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the sickly squelch of flesh being torn apart. The city had become his battleground, and the dead were nothing more than playthings under the weight of his power.
The Kruu'Vesp above continued their aerial assault, darting through the sky with lightning speed, but they didn't need to come down they trusted Tar to keep the streets clear. His strength and bloodlust made him a perfect wall, a one man army that would keep the undead at bay for as long as needed.
Through it all, Tar's mind was focused only on one thing survival. He fought like a beast, like a creature unleashed, determined to keep the streets clear, to protect the civilians, to save as many as he could. The city around him burned with the screams of the fallen, but Tar was a relentless force of nature that would not yield, no matter how many times the dead came for him.
Tar's rage knew no limits, and neither did his creativity. The buildings around him, once symbols of home and shelter, quickly became tools in his destructive rampage. With the dead relentlessly advancing, Tar used every available resource to his advantage.
One massive building, its foundation cracked by the weight of the battle, was grabbed by the brute force of Tar's hands. He tore into the walls with raw power, ripping chunks of stone and timber free. With a primal roar, he hurled it into the swarm of undead, sending bodies flying as the wreckage exploded on impact. The force was enough to knock several of the creatures off their feet, creating an opening for the civilians to escape.
When a cluster of dead emerged from a side street, Tar leaped into the air, his hooves crushing the ground as he used a nearby building to propel himself forward. He landed with the weight of a wrecking ball, his hooves sinking deep into the stone, sending the entire building's facade crashing down on the undead beneath him. The stones crumbled like leaves in a storm, trapping dozens under the rubble.
But that wasn't enough. Tar's savage mind didn't just see buildings as obstacles he saw them as weapons. He sprinted toward another abandoned house, ripped a corner of the structure off, and swung it like a battering ram. The wooden beams cracked under the force, but the dead were obliterated, splintering into pieces as the heavy structure smashed into them.
He fought with an intensity that few could match, turning the city itself into his weapon. With every stomp of his hooves, the earth beneath him quaked. With every swing of his axe or the twisted remains of buildings, he tore through the undead like a mad beast let loose upon the world. In a rare moment between the carnage, Tar's sharp eyes caught a small figure a child who had stumbled into the open after he'd ripped apart a nearby beam, the crumbling structure nearly burying the boy. Without hesitation, Tar surged forward, his hulking form parting the undead like a battering ram. He scooped the child up with one massive arm, tucking him close to his chest as the undead swarmed in tighter. Roaring, Tar fought even harder, his axe cleaving through twice as many with savage, sweeping arcs, but the pressure mounted. With a last, desperate burst of strength, Tar hurled the child high toward a nearby barricade just as a Kruu'Vesp swooped in from above, snatching the child midair and whisking him to safety. Only then did Tar turn back, his fury doubling as he launched himself once more into the tide of the dead.
Nothing could stop him, not while he was surrounded by the streets he swore to protect. As long as the Kruu'Vesp's continued to drop civilians to safety, Tar would remain a force of nature a terrifying, unstoppable guardian in the midst of an apocalypse.
Tar's eyes flicked to the sky. The tension in his massive frame eased just enough to draw a breath before, as a massive beam of raw, violent magic shot down toward the city. It cut through the air like a blade, the air itself rippling as the beam carved a path of destruction. The pulse of energy was so intense that the very ground seemed to tremble beneath his hooves.
He barely had time to react before the beam struck, slamming into the heart of the city. A wave of heat and force erupted on impact, sending shockwaves through the streets. The buildings closest to the impact point groaned, their foundations cracking as chunks of stone, wood, and metal were disintegrated into ash. The beam left a trail of scorched earth behind it, the residue sizzling as it melted anything in its wake. The sickening stench of burning flesh clung to the air, twisted bodies fused into the stone like grotesque sculptures. Screams that had once pierced the night were abruptly silenced, leaving behind only the crackle of melting bone and the wet hiss of boiling blood.
Tar, unfazed by the attack, gritted his teeth, his massive frame unaffected by the blast's aftershocks. His mind was set on one thing: the safety of those around him. He wasn't just a monster of war he was a protector. He charged forward, his double headed axe carving a bloody path through the undead, but his eyes never left the centre of the devastation. The city was burning, and the civilians were in grave danger.
As the dust began to settle, the magical residue remained, heavy and suffocating in the air, melting parts of the city into nothing more than puddles of rubble and charred remains. Tar could feel the weight of the air, the thick, acrid stench of burned stone and decay filling his nostrils.
Above him, in the chaos, Na'reth emerged like a storm incarnate, though for a fleeting moment, even she felt a flicker of doubt twist in her chest before it was buried beneath steely resolve. Her crimson eyes gleamed with focus as she moved, her great sword flashing through the thickening haze. She stood at the epicentre of the attack, her presence a beacon of authority amidst the carnage. The beams of magic had left her unscathed, but the damage it caused to the city only seemed to fuel her resolve. Her Kruu'Vesp soldiers swarmed the skies, dealing swift death to the undead while Na'reth herself carved a bloody path toward the source of the chaos, her every movement deliberate, calculated, and lethal.
A ripple of tension bridged the chaos as the focus shifted once again farther out, Valen and Kalrith were still locked in their battle, fighting their way through the hordes of the undead. Valen's silver hair whipped in the wind, his blades flashing as he cut through the dead with lethal precision, every strike a beautiful yet deadly dance. Kalrith, ever the powerhouse, swung her great sword with raw strength, tearing through enemies with every swing, her gaze never wavering from the battlefield ahead. They were working in tandem, each covering the other's back, moving seamlessly as one unit.
Even as they fought valiantly, the beam had shifted the balance. Valen glanced over, his eyes catching the towering figure of Na'reth, her eyes locked on the destruction, and the wave of magic that had ravaged their city. He could feel it in his gut the fight was far from over, and the true terror was only just beginning.