The cold wind howled across the battlements, carrying with it the scent of approaching darkness. As the ominous glow spread across the horizon, every warrior stationed on Nightfang's walls stood tense, their hands gripping weapons tightly. The air crackled with an unnatural energy, as if the very fabric of the night was bending under some unseen force.
Lucian's eyes locked on the figure leading the shadowy army—a cloaked being radiating an aura of cold menace. Though distant, its presence was palpable, like a hand clutching at his chest. Beside him, Lyra drew her blades, their silver edges gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Whatever that thing is, it's not just a nightspawn," she said quietly.
"No," Lucian agreed, his voice calm but laced with tension. "It's something far worse."
A horn sounded from below, signaling the approach of the enemy. The envoy's army of nightspawn halted just beyond the range of Nightfang's archers, their crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness. The cloaked figure raised a hand, and the nightspawn parted, forming a path. Slowly, the figure advanced alone, its steps eerily silent.
"What's it doing?" Lyra muttered.
"It wants to talk," Lucian replied, though he didn't lower his guard. "Stay ready. This could be a trap."
At the base of the walls, Lucian and Lyra met the envoy under the watchful eyes of archers perched above. Draven and Kael joined them, both visibly wary. The envoy halted a few paces away, its features obscured by the shadowy hood it wore.
"You are Lucian of Nightfang," the figure said, its voice a chilling whisper that seemed to echo unnaturally.
"I am," Lucian replied. "And you are?"
"I am merely a messenger," the envoy said. "The Abyss sends its greetings… and its terms."
Draven sneered. "Terms? You think we'd negotiate with a force that seeks to destroy us?"
The envoy's head turned slightly, as if regarding Draven with amusement. "You misunderstand. The Abyss does not seek to destroy—it seeks to reshape. Join us, and you will be spared when the new order rises."
Lucian stepped forward, his expression cold. "We don't kneel to darkness. If the Abyss wants a fight, it will have one."
A low, unnatural laugh escaped the envoy. "Brave words. But bravery alone cannot stop the inevitable." It raised a hand, and the shadows around it writhed. "Very well, if you refuse… then you will fall."
Before anyone could react, tendrils of shadow shot toward them, moving with unnatural speed. Lyra leapt forward, her blades flashing as she severed the tendrils in midair. Draven unleashed a blast of dark energy, forcing the envoy to retreat.
"Archers!" Lucian shouted.
From above, a volley of arrows rained down, but the envoy vanished into a swirl of shadows before they could land. The army of nightspawn surged forward, howling as they charged toward Nightfang's gates.
"Get back to the walls!" Lucian commanded. "Hold the line!"
---
The battle erupted in full force. Nightfang's archers loosed volley after volley, thinning the ranks of the nightspawn, but more kept coming, their forms shifting and reforming with each strike. Warriors on the walls hurled spears and cast spells, but the sheer number of enemies threatened to overwhelm them.
At the front lines, Lucian fought with a ferocity born of desperation and resolve. His sword cleaved through nightspawn with deadly precision, each strike backed by years of battle-hardened skill. Beside him, Lyra fought like a tempest, her twin blades moving so fast they seemed to blur.
Draven conjured waves of dark fire, incinerating dozens of nightspawn at a time. Kael, wielding a great silver axe, cut down any who came too close. Yet despite their combined strength, the enemy continued to press forward.
"Lucian!" Lyra shouted, pointing toward the ridge beyond the battlefield. The envoy had reappeared, its form shrouded in swirling darkness. Around it, a new wave of nightspawn began to form, larger and more grotesque than the ones they had faced so far.
"We need to take that thing down, or this battle will never end!" Lucian growled.
"Leave it to me," Draven said, his eyes gleaming with dark power. Without waiting for a response, he launched himself into the air, propelled by a burst of shadow energy.
Lucian watched as Draven soared toward the envoy, his hands crackling with dark magic. The two clashed in midair, their powers colliding in a burst of light and shadow that illuminated the battlefield below.
"Focus on holding the line!" Lucian shouted to the others. "We can't let them breach the gates!"
As the battle raged on, a strange sensation washed over Lucian—a familiar presence, one he hadn't felt in years. He turned, his eyes scanning the battlefield until they landed on a figure standing on a distant hill. Cloaked in a flowing black robe, the figure watched the battle with an air of calm detachment.
"Who…?" Lyra began, following his gaze.
"I don't know," Lucian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I intend to find out."
Before Lyra could stop him, Lucian broke away from the front lines, his sword blazing with silver light as he charged toward the mysterious figure.