Jareth felt the surge of energy coursing through him as he absorbed the remains of Yggdrasil's corrupted power. The searing flames in his veins calmed, leaving behind a tempered strength. His muscles hummed with newfound power, his senses sharper, and his aura burning brighter than before.
"This is the reward of conquest," Bahamut's voice rumbled in his mind, sounding both satisfied and calculating. "Your strength has risen significantly—perhaps by ten percent—but do not let it cloud your judgment, Jareth. This is only the beginning."
Jareth rolled his shoulders, flexing his claws. "Ten percent, huh? It's not enough," he muttered, glancing at the destroyed battlefield around him. His body was aching, the earlier battle still weighing on him.
"Indeed," Bahamut replied. "We are not even at the Tower of Damnation yet. This journey may take more time than we initially thought."
Jareth sighed, dropping to one knee to rest. "Then I'll take an hour to recover," he said, his voice firm. "If I keep pushing like this, I won't make it."
He leaned against a shattered tree trunk, the faint warmth of Bahamut's presence keeping him grounded. For an hour, he meditated, letting his body and mind recover. The weariness ebbed slightly, replaced by a simmering resolve.
Just as he prepared to take flight and continue his journey, a voice thundered in his mind—a voice he hadn't expected.
"Jareth, my son, STOP!" The Goddess's voice was urgent, almost panicked. "Our city is under attack by an incredibly strong force. Lyra cannot hold them off alone. You must return immediately!"
Jareth's eyes widened, his heart lurching at the words. Without hesitation, he spread his wings, the fiery scales igniting as he launched into the air with the speed of a meteor. The wind howled around him as he streaked across the sky like a blazing comet, his mind racing.
Inside the City
The holy city stood bathed in the golden glow of the barrier Jareth had created before leaving. Its towering walls and spires gleamed with divine radiance, but beneath the surface, tension gripped every soul. Soldiers hurried to their positions, civilians were escorted into the inner sanctum, and the sound of horns echoed through the streets.
Atop the walls, Lyra, clad in her silver armor, stood tall, her voice commanding yet filled with an undertone of urgency. She turned to the defenders—a mix of seasoned warriors and trembling volunteers.
"Honorable soldiers under the protection of the Goddess," she began, her voice booming across the walls, "today, some of you may fall. But remember this: as long as your souls are not absorbed, the Goddess can bring you back. So do not despair!"
The soldiers murmured among themselves, their faces etched with fear and determination.
Lyra raised her sword, the blade gleaming in the fading light. "You fight not just for yourselves but for your families, your children, and the future of the holy land! Do not give in to fear. Do not falter. Stand strong, for we are the shield that protects the innocent. Until Bahamut's Champion returns to aid us, we must hold the line!"
A rousing cheer erupted from the soldiers, the sound echoing across the city. Mothers, fathers, and young warriors gripped their weapons tightly, the fire of determination burning in their eyes.
Lyra turned to her captains, her voice sharp. "Commanders, position the units on the walls. Archers to the front. Catapults ready. Mages, charge the barrier with holy energy. This is our home, and we will not let it fall!"
As the soldiers scrambled to their positions, a scout shouted from a watchtower. "Commander Lyra! Smoke and dark auras crossing the border of the holy land! Opposite of where the Champion was headed!"
Lyra's heart sank as she climbed the tower to get a better view. What she saw made her blood run cold.
The Enemy Approaches
In the distance, a massive, rolling cloud of smoke and darkness loomed over the horizon, blotting out the golden glow of the holy barrier. The enemy was here, and their numbers were staggering.
Marching at the forefront were five towering figures, their auras radiating malice and corruption. Each of them was distinct—a General of unimaginable power. Behind them, thousands of soldiers, their grotesque forms twisting in the shadows, growled and roared as they advanced. The ground shook beneath their relentless march.
"Report!" Lyra demanded, her voice strained.
A scout saluted. "Five enemy Generals, each leading five thousand soldiers. Total enemy count is twenty-five thousand!"
Lyra clenched her fists. "And our numbers?"
"Two thousand strong, Commander," the scout replied, his voice heavy with doubt.
Lyra closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She opened them again, her gaze fierce. "It doesn't matter. We hold. We fight. We endure."
The Stand-off
The holy barrier flickered, glowing brightly as the enemy army reached its edge. The power of Jareth's barrier held strong, but Lyra could see it trembling under the combined might of the five Generals.
From atop a blackened hill, one of the enemy Generals, a massive figure cloaked in flames, stepped forward. His voice boomed across the battlefield, guttural and filled with malice. "You think this barrier will protect you? You think your Goddess can save you? This land belongs to the shadows now!"
The enemy army erupted into roars and growls, their voices shaking the air like a cacophony of despair.
On the other side, Lyra stood firm, her sword raised. Behind her, the soldiers gripped their weapons, their faces pale but resolute.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The two armies stood facing each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
Lyra's voice broke the silence, steady and defiant. "This is holy ground, and we will not let it fall. You may break our walls, but you will never break our spirit!"
The Generals laughed, their twisted forms brimming with dark energy.
The scene held, the two forces staring each other down, the air crackling with anticipation.
Then, the barrier began to crack under the overwhelming presence of the five enemy generals.
The sound of the barrier splintering echoed across the battlefield. A dark roar erupted from the enemy army, shaking the ground beneath them. Lyra tightened her grip on her sword, her gaze unwavering.
In the far distance, a streak of light shot through the sky—Jareth, flying like a jet, his fiery wings cutting through the horizon. But would he make it in time?
The battlefield erupted into chaos as both armies prepared to charge, the shouts and growls of the enemy drowning out all else.
The holy city stood on the brink of annihilation.