As the combined forces of humans and elves advanced, whispers of a new enemy began to spread—an enemy unlike any they had faced before. Reports spoke of shadowy figures that moved with unnatural speed and struck with unrelenting ferocity.
One night, a scout stumbled into the camp, his body battered and his face pale with fear. "They're coming," he gasped. "The shadows...they're unstoppable."
The camp erupted into chaos as soldiers prepared for an imminent attack. Atreya felt a cold dread settle over him, the mark on his wrist burning faintly.
When the attack came, it was unlike anything they had expected. The shadows were not men but creatures born of darkness, their forms shifting and indistinct. They moved silently, their glowing red eyes the only warning of their approach.
Atreya fought with everything he had, the Asura blade cutting through the shadows like a beacon of light. But for every creature he struck down, another seemed to take its place.
It was only when Sylvana joined the fray, her magic illuminating the battlefield, that the tide began to turn. Her spells seemed to weaken the creatures, allowing the soldiers to push them back.
As the last shadow dissolved into the night, the army stood in stunned silence, their victory hollow.
"These aren't mere soldiers," Sylvana said, her voice grim. "They're a harbinger of something far worse."