The clash of metal and shouts of battle were growing louder by the second, drawing Ty and his squad toward the heart of the clearing. The tension in the air was thick, the anticipation palpable. As they approached, Ty's muscles tensed, his senses sharp and alert. The grass beneath his feet felt like a battlefield waiting to be stained red.
The wind rustled through the field, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning ozone and something darker—blood. Ty could feel the creature inside him stirring, feeding off the rising chaos. His fingers itched, fire flickering faintly from his palms. He stole a glance at Kern, whose hands hovered over his twin scimitars, eager for the kill.
"Stay low, move quietly," Ty whispered, signaling his squad to fan out and approach the two fighting groups from different angles. They had no time to waste—their mission was clear: kill three enemies before the first 24 hours passed.
