Chapter 22

  The scenario at the northern border of Caleon had transformed within minutes from a troubling natural spectacle into a nightmare of flesh and despair. Sk?ll Wolfsgrund, who usually possessed the serenity of a sleeping mountain lion, clawed his fingers deeper into the control levers of the Night-Howler.

  Before the shimmering, pale blue Arcane Dome of Wolfsgrund, a scene unfolded that defied all biological logic. It was a flood. But not a flood of water—it was an avalanche of scales, fur, skin, and claws. The animals of the Black Woods—creatures that normally remained hidden deep in the thicket, hunting one another—crashed against the magical barrier in an unstoppable wave.

  The Cartilage-Eaters, massive beasts with jaw-breaking biting tools, rammed their skulls against the hard resistance of the dome until their bones audibly cracked. Rip-Maws and Varg-Stalkers, the swiftest hunters of the forest, leaped against the mana field with claws extended, only to bounce off like insects against a windowpane. On the ground, mighty Earth-Dragons and armored Thorn-Skinks rubbed their scales raw until bloody flesh appeared beneath their plating.

  There was no hesitation. No animal turned away. Even when limbs shattered and snouts were crushed, the following bodies simply pushed the injured further against the shield. It looked like a collective rage, a madness that had extinguished any instinct for self-preservation.

  "They are destroying themselves," Sk?ll murmured, a rare touch of pity rising within him. He was a Wolfsgrund; he respected the beasts of the forest more than most humans. "This isn't a fight. This is a mass suicide."

  He knew the barrier was holding, but the sight was unbearable. "Relieve them!" he commanded over the radio network. "Open fire! Don’t let them suffer!"

  At his command, the inferno broke loose—this time from the defensive side. On the battlements of Fortress Wolfsgrund, archers let loose volleys of fire arrows, while the house's battle mages hurled arcane fireballs and frost lances into the dense mass beyond the shield. Sk?ll himself set the Night-Howler’s targeting matrix. Two heavy repeating cannons extended from his golem's shoulder joints, firing concentrated mana beams. With every shot, he tore gaps into the furry surf, vaporizing flesh and bone in blue explosions. The General and the house's other golems followed suit.

  For a moment, the flood seemed to falter. The carcasses piled meters high in front of the dome, forming a wall of dead flesh. But the effect did not last. The wave did not shrink; it grew larger. It seemed as if all the animals of the northern forest had conspired against civilization. Birds plummeted from above like dive-bombers against the dome until they fell to the ground like burst fruit.

  While the continuous fire from the golems filled the air with the smell of scorched ozone and singed fur, Sk?ll’s brain began to work. The relaxed young lord had vanished; in his place stood the analyst.

  Why are they doing this?

  He went through the possibilities. A disease? Impossible. No plague in the world affects insects, reptiles, mammals, and birds simultaneously with the same incubation period. A spell? A manipulation spell of this magnitude would force even the strongest Archmages of the High Elves into the dust. And Reyn—this thunder mage from the North—might be powerful, but no one could be a god of lightning and a ruler over the mind of every single beetle in the forest at the same time. It had to be something simpler. Something natural...

  Sk?ll looked far to the North through the smoke of the impacts. There, behind the Army of the Outcasts, he saw the glow. The lightning had stopped, but the fire Reyn had ignited was no ordinary forest fire. It was a wall of flame of apocalyptic proportions that sucked all the oxygen out of the atmosphere, turning the world into a glowing grave.

  Then came the epiphany. The animals were not at war with Wolfsgrund. They weren't in a rage. They were in a panic.

  "They aren't attacking us..." Sk?ll whispered, his heart rate accelerating. "They are fleeing. We aren't their target. We are the wall blocking their way to safety."

  He now saw the Arcane Dome with different eyes. It was not a saving wall, but a death sentence for thousands of innocent beings merely trying to escape certain death by fire. If the dome remained, they would either shatter against the shield or be overtaken by the blaze within hours.

  Sk?ll grabbed the main radio. His voice was no longer calm, but filled with a commanding urgency that brooked no contradiction.

  "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY!" he bellowed into the Wolfsgrund network.

  The hammering of the golems fell silent unevenly. Confusion spread through the ether.

  "My Lord Sk?ll?" the General’s voice came through, stunned. "The creatures... they are nearly breaking through the lower saturation of the shield! If we stop shooting, they will crush us by sheer mass!"

  "They are fleeing the fire, General!" Sk?ll shouted back. "If we keep gunning them down, we’re no better than that shadow-freak out there! We have to let them through!"

  "Let them through?!" The General sounded as if Sk?ll had ordered him to drive his golem into the abyss. "My Lord, those are predators! If we lower the shields, they will storm the fortress. The civilians in the lower levels, the supplies..."

  "The shields stay up!" Sk?ll interrupted him. "But we change the flow. If they want to get to the forest in the south, then we give them a corridor. OPEN THE EAST GATES! The entire East Bulwark is to raise the gates!"

  A moment of silence followed. The East Gate of Fortress Wolfsgrund was no simple door; it was a massive portal leading directly into the inner ring of defenses and out the other side into the deeper, safer territories of Caleon.

  "My Lord, this is madness," the General tried to intervene one last time. "The animals will tear the inner buildings apart. The damage will be immense!"

  "Buildings can be rebuilt, General! An entire ecosystem cannot!" Sk?ll snapped at him. "An order is an order! Open the gates and form a corridor with the golems! Drive them through the middle, don't let them veer into the residential quarters! Anyone who shoots an animal that is running peacefully answers to me!"

  The General snorted, but discipline won out. "Understood. Gates are being opened. Golems in corridor formation!"

  With a bone-jarring screech that drowned out even the noise of the fire, the massive iron gates of the East Gate began to slide upward. Simultaneously, the Arcane Dome was selectively deactivated in that narrow section.

  What followed was a force of nature.

  As soon as the resistance gave way, the flood of fur and claws poured into the fortress. It was a stream of living flesh racing through the main street of the outer bailey. Shadow-wolves ran flank-to-flank with stags they would normally have hunted. Bears roared in fear as they skidded across the stone pavement.

  Sk?ll steered the Night-Howler into the center of the street and used his golem’s massive arms to form an alley along with the other machines. The golems stood like unshakable statues of metal while the animals swept between their legs.

  Of course, damage was inevitable. The animals' panic was too great to be perfectly channeled. A massive Earth-Dragon, blind with fear, rammed the barracks' guardhouse, collapsing the upper floor. Splinters of wood and stone flew through the air. A swarm of thorny flying lizards crashed into the chapel's mosaic windows, turning the interior into a chaos of glass and torn banners. Several supply tents were simply trampled underfoot as they passed; barrels of wine and grain burst under the hooves of the fleeing.

  But Sk?ll watched it with a strange satisfaction. Yes, buildings were destroyed. Yes, the pride of Wolfsgrund's architecture suffered. But the defenses themselves—the walls, the golem forges, and the underground bunkers—remained intact. The animals didn't want to fight; they just wanted to get away.

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  "Do you see that, General?" Sk?ll called out as a giant Cartilage-Eater leaped directly beneath the Night-Howler’s head. "They are ignoring us completely. To them, we are just obstacles, not enemies."

  The General, struggling to keep his golem stable while a herd of rock goats slammed against his shins, did not answer, but Sk?ll could sense the grumbling agreement in the radio silence.

  The passage lasted for hours. Thousands of creatures saved themselves by passing through the fortress into the southern forest areas where the fire would not reach them. When the stream finally slowed to a trickle and only a few limping animals scurried through the open gate, Sk?ll gave the order to close the gates again and fully seal the dome.

  The outer bailey looked like it had been hit by an earthquake. Debris, feathers, tufts of hair, and smashed equipment lay everywhere. The ground was scratched by thousands of claws. But the bloodshed had stopped.

  Sk?ll leaned back in his cockpit. He was exhausted, but adrenaline still pumped through his veins. He looked at the damage reports popping up on his screen.

  "Inner barracks destroyed. Chapel damaged. Supply depots 3 and 4 lost," he read aloud. "But no human casualties. Defensive walls at 100%."

  He activated the astral transmission to the royal castle in Drymon. He had to report to Thivan. He knew the news of "destroyed buildings" would cause panic in Drymon, but he had to tell the truth. Caleon had to understand that Reyn wasn't just attacking with soldiers; he was using the entire world order as a weapon.

  As the face of the Sergeant (serving as the courier for the transmission) appeared, Sk?ll began his report—the one we already heard from Luken’s perspective in the War Room.

  But as he spoke, Sk?ll looked North again. The fire had moved closer now, and behind the curtain of smoke and flames, he now saw something else. It wasn't animals. It was lights. Cold, violet lights moving in perfect military formation.

  Reyn had used the animals as a first, unconscious battering ram. Now that the forest was burned away and the defenders of Wolfsgrund were occupied with clearing debris and managing the animal flood, the true army was coming.

  Sk?ll closed the cockpit window completely again. The bitter taste of meat in his mouth had now been replaced by the metallic taste of war.

  "General," he said softly. "Forget the debris. Charge the cores to the maximum. The animals are gone. Now come the monsters."

  He placed his hand on the Night-Howler’s lever and let the golem's mechanical head howl one last time toward the burning horizon.

  Then came the true enemy.

  -

  The heavy ironwood of the double doors practically burst under the force with which Thivan Sothar entered the Trophy Room. It was not a regal entrance; it was an assault. He was still wearing full battle armor, but now it was enveloped in a dense, bluish mist of static electricity. His helm, an angular masterpiece of blackened steel and Atherium inlays, concealed his face entirely, making him look like a mechanical monster risen directly from the forges of the gods.

  In the world of diplomacy, wearing a helm during a conversation was the ultimate insult—or an unmistakable declaration of war. Thivan was not counting on words; he was counting on blood.

  I felt Gravor laugh inside me. "Finally," the voice whispered in my marrow. "Let’s see if his throne is made of real gold or just painted lead." The dark essence of my tenant crept like liquid pitch into my veins, ready to breach the surface.

  Without warning, Thivan charged at me. He covered the distance with a speed that should have been impossible for a man in that armor. He swung, his right fist crackling with overloaded mana energy—a brilliant flash that illuminated the room as bright as the sun for a fleeting moment.

  My instinct took command. In a fraction of a second, I threw up my hands. I did not form a divine barrier of the Eagle Order; there was no time for that. I reached directly into Gravor’s reservoir and created a swirling, violet-black barrier of pure demonic entropy.

  The impact was deafening. Thivan’s fist struck my shield, and the resulting shockwave made the glass display cases in the room rattle. My barrier withstood the pressure for a millisecond before shattering like glass under a hammer. The force hurled me back two meters, my boots leaving deep furrows in the carpet as I struggled to maintain my balance.

  Gravor practically screamed for retaliation. I felt the skin on my shoulder blades begin to burn—the precursor to my wings. I felt hard, black scales trying to form on my neck. "No!" I commanded mentally with an iron hardness I had trained for years. "Withdraw. We are not here to kill him."

  To my surprise, the urge receded. It wasn't an obedient cowering, but rather a disappointed grumble, like a predator whose prey had been snatched away. In that moment, I realized how far Gravor and I had come. We were no longer parasite and host; we were companions in a very dark fate.

  I exhaled slowly and lowered my hands, which were still tingling with residual energy. I felt no intent to kill. It hadn't been an attempted murder, but a surgical strike against my facade.

  Thivan paused. The crackling at his fist died out. He let out a dry, almost hysterical chuckle that was metallically distorted by his helm. Then he reached up with his left hand and tore the helm from his head.

  Beneath it emerged a face marked by war even before the first battle had begun. He looked tired, deep shadows lay under his glowing eyes, yet in his features lay a pride as unshakable as the walls of his city.

  "So, I was right in my suspicion," he said, eyeing me with a mixture of loathing and deep interest. "You are a half-demon. Or at least something built so close to hell that the difference no longer matters."

  I bit my lip. Disappointment in myself surged up. He had provoked me, and I had fallen for it instantly. He had proven that my aura of the "Holy Paladin" was nothing more than a shiny coat of paint over a very dark core.

  Thivan placed his helm on the pedestal of the first golem and stepped toward me. His gaze was now uncertain, almost lost, despite his imperial posture. "My ex-fiancée reappears after years. Accompanied by a half-demon, a plague-mage, and an ash-born savage. And all of this in the midst of the greatest war Caleon has seen since its founding. Tell me, false Paladin... what the hell am I supposed to make of that? Are you the Horsemen of the Apocalypse or just a bunch of madmen?"

  I ground my teeth but forced myself into a casual stance. I crossed my arms over my chest, though my muscles were still trembling with tension. "We are not here to harm you or your realm, Thivan. If we wanted that, we would have simply waited until Reyn turned your northern border into a graveyard. We are here because we know what is at stake."

  Thivan paced slowly back and forth in the room, past the shimmering Veska cores. "Then why do you mention things that no one is allowed to know?" he asked suddenly in a low voice, his tone now dangerously calm. He stopped and stared at me. "You spoke of something beneath the palace. Why does a creature like you... mention the demon portal in my basement?"

  The words hit me like a physical blow. I widened my eyes in horror. My heart suddenly hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

  "A... a demon portal?" I croaked. My whole body went cold. I had theorized about an ancient artifact or an Atherium source, but this? This defied all imagination. If Reyn had access to a portal, if he could summon the legions of the Lower Realms directly into the heart of the East... then Tirros was lost.

  "You didn't know?" Thivan asked, a bitter smile appearing on his face. "You were only guessing? You threw the word 'secret' into the room and hoped I would bite? Well, Paladin, congratulations. You have uncovered the best-kept secret of the Sothar line."

  He stepped to a window and looked down at the celebrating city. "My ancestor, the first King of Drymon, found it while building the foundations. He could not destroy it. He could only seal it. For centuries, we have pumped Atherium and mana into the seals to keep the gate closed. The golems, the wealth, the isolation... it all serves, in part, to maintain the power that holds this maw shut. We aren't just guarding a kingdom, Luken. We are guarding the lid of a hell."

  I understood everything now. Reyn’s plan wasn't a campaign. It was a liberation. He didn't want to rule Caleon; he wanted to shatter the barrier beneath the palace. He didn't just want to bring the storm from the sky; he wanted to unleash it from the abyss.

  "Thivan, listen to me," I said, hastily taking a step toward him. The earnestness in my voice made him whirl around. "Reyn is no ordinary mage. He is a collector of catastrophes. If he reaches the portal, he won't try to control it. He will rip it open. And he will use the energy to turn himself into something that none of us can fight anymore."

  Thivan stared at me for a long time. In the silence of the Trophy Room, the ghosts of fallen warriors seemed to stand around us. He searched my face for a sign of deception, for the demonic grin he expected. But he found only the naked, human fear of a man who had seen the abyss.

  "The Sergeant from Wolfsgrund..." Thivan murmured thoughtfully. "He said the buildings were destroyed, but not by the enemy. The earth beneath the fortress trembled. If Reyn is active up there... perhaps he is trying to manipulate the energetic ley lines connected to the portal. He is weakening the seals from a distance."

  He rubbed his forehead, and for a moment he no longer looked like a king, but like a young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked over to his helm, then back at me.

  "I trusted Vin, and she robbed me and left me," he said sharply. "I trusted my father, and he left me this heritage that is slowly eating me from the inside. Why should I trust you now?"

  "Because I am the only one who knows how Gravor—and thus Reyn—might think," I answered without hesitation. "I am the only one who can sense the portal without being possessed by it. And because Vin... Vin isn't here to steal from you. She is here because she knows you are the only one who can still hold the realm together. She is afraid of you, yes. But she believes in you."

  Thivan took a deep breath. The glow in his eyes stabilized. He reached for his helm and tucked it under his arm. He had made a decision. The arrogance was still there, but it was now paired with a pragmatic acceptance.

  "I will send the Gray Lords to the North to hold Wolfsgrund," he said, his voice regaining the commanding tone of a king. "I will cancel my coronation. If the seal falters, a crown is just a piece of metal in a grave."

  He stepped toward me and held out his right, crackling hand. It was not a handshake of friendship, but a pact of necessity.

  "I accept your help, half-demon. But be warned: if you betray me, not even the Inquisition will find your remains. We will defend this portal, whatever the cost."

  He looked at me expectantly while outside, the alarm of a second wave in the North echoed through the city. The time for hesitation was over. The shadows were already coming for Drymon.

  "What is your plan, Paladin?"