The wash of energy waving over him gave a sweet, somber warmth in his chest. Audibly, it was hard to explain — like a violent crashing of sounds that failed to coexist, yet did so seamlessly all at once.
It felt as though he was entering a void that simply failed to end, looping back in on itself for an eternity and threatening to never spit him back out.
Only when the heat slowly began to morph into a violent inferno could he tell it was working. The energy began to warp to his sides, and his eyes slowly began to adjust to the ashen fields in front of him. He was in Neodera.
The town by now looked nothing more than a remnant of its past self — charred houses and disheartening ruins of varying levels of destruction. Many of the corpses that littered the streets were burnt beyond recognition, and most were reduced to nothing but ash being blown in the wind.
Their point of arrival appeared to be within a small divot near the center of town, standing at the base of a large stone wall to their right. The cadets bunched together, seeming quite unsure as to what's done now.
Taking charge, one of the Phantoms quickly jumped forward in front of the others, hopping onto a small pile of wooden crates before turning back towards the group.
His face remained stern — head shaved and with a thick beard masking his chin. His glance felt so cold it almost made him appear lifeless, and a broad scar stretching from the top of his neck to the bottom practically pronounced him as seasoned. The dual curved blades crossed on his back only managed to reinforce this.
By all meanings of the word, this man looked like a killer. Like a hunter.
"Listen up!" He roared, slowly pacing his gaze through each of the soldiers before him. "Phantoms- split into groups and comb over the city-! Don't let a single Terror live, even if it costs you your lives! And Cadets, follow closely behind. Stick together and do as you're told. I'll not be responsible for your insubordination. Mess up, and it will cost your life."
Without much more of a word, the group of Phantoms began to mobilize — moving at such a speed it was almost hard to comprehend. Not wishing to be left behind, the cadets didn't hesitate to run in pursuit.
By the time the first sounds of fighting had broken out, three groups had already begun to form, each a mix of Phantoms and cadets alike.
Taking point near the western bank, just off in the city limits and overlooking the forest, was a small force led by the stern Phantom from earlier. Both Nyx and Silas were close behind. It didn't take them long to discern who the enemy was.
Scattered like the plague, seemingly placed in the most inconvenient of areas, were hordes of wolf-like creatures. Nyx personally didn't do any fighting, though still managed to get a relatively clear look at their appearance.
Being pitch black, they somehow managed to achieve a perfect camouflage with the charred wood of the buildings, assisted by the dust and smog of destruction, yet at the same time sticking out like a sore thumb. The remnants of the chaotic flame, due to its harsh and violent movements, almost appeared as a smokescreen for them — as if they were in their natural habitat hunting for their prey.
Quite notably, each one came with a mane not of fur, but of wiggling, almost sentient-appearing spikes which moved in waves. Their eyes struck like piercing daggers, glowing a deathly shade of red, and their mouths seemingly fawning for flesh.
Even worse, their numbers appeared to be never-ending. Every one killed brought two back from the depths of hell itself.
Despite the heat, a chill still managed to snake its way down Nyx's spine.
He kept worrying that one of these beasts would manage to sneak up on him. To get behind the group of Phantoms doing all the fighting and would take a bite out of his arm. He would scour the frames, and scrutinize every slight shadow. Every slight whisp of movement would be closely watched by him. And yet, that moment never came.
The Phantoms, while seemingly struggling at times, simply moved with such speed and coordination that it was near impossible for a wolf to slip through. They maneuvered with such terrifying grace, that it didn't matter how many wolves were thrown at them. They were perfectly in sync.
By the time mid-day had arrived, the western front of the city was labeled officially clear. Nyx and Silas never even had to lift a finger.
First-hand, Nyx had just witnessed the true strength of the Phantoms. Perhaps he wouldn't even need to fight at all on this mission. Perhaps he was safe.
Perhaps.
---------------------