The battlefield stretched like a canvas of despair, painted in blood, sweat, and broken bodies. The once-thriving clearing was now a graveyard of shattered trees and dying breaths, illuminated by the waning light of a reluctant moon. The air stank of iron and decay, every breath tasting of inevitability.
Amid the chaos, Krown's figure was resolute, a beacon of disciplined violence in a world unraveling. The Commander of the cohort stood imposing at 6'4 with broad shoulders — not nearly as imposing as the Fiends, yet all the more fearsome. Armor, slick with gore, caressed by the moonlight. His greatsword was a beast of its own, humming faintly with golden Aura, as if alive, yearning for one last battle. Strands of his short raven-black hair glue to his forehead, mesmerising blood-red eyes focused with a mixture of fury and leadership.
The Bat Fiend before him hissed, its elongated limbs twitching unnaturally. This one was different from the other he had felled earlier — leaner, faster, and crueler. Before it evolved, and even more so now.
It circled him with unnerving intelligence, talons clicking against the earth like a dirge for the fallen.
Elsewhere, the men fought against the tide.
A hundred Fiends surged, their grotesque forms filling the clearing with a cacophony of snarls and screams. The Knights moved in tight formations, their Aura flaring to life in radiant hues. Each warrior fought as though the weight of the world rested on their shoulders, their movements precise, their wills unyielding.
But the tide was unrelenting.
A Fiend, smaller yet no less ferocious, leapt onto one of the men. Its claws sank deep into his shoulder, carving through armor and flesh like parchment. His scream tore through the night, raw and agonized, before the chaos swallowed him whole.
"Hold the line!" another Knight roared, his voice booming with the authority of the damned.
They obeyed, even as more of their comrades fell. Each death was a hammer blow, shattering the already fragile resolve of the living.
One by one, their cries fell silent, leaving only the raw determination of those who remained.
Krown's duel reached its zenith.
The Fiend lunged, its sinewy form a blur as it aimed to gut him with a swipe of its claws. Krown parried, his greatsword meeting the attack with a clang that echoed through the clearing. Sparks flew as Aura erupted along the blade, wreathing it in golden fire.
The Commander's strikes weren't just calculated — they were a symphony of destruction, each movement a testament to mastery. Aura constructs formed and dissipated around him, shields of light absorbing the Fiend's retaliatory blows, while his own blade morphed into a serrated edge of pure energy.
But this Fiend wasn't without cunning.
It contorted mid-attack, its grotesque body folding in ways no human could match. With a sickening crack, its wing lashed out, striking Krown's shoulder. He staggered, his armor dented, blood seeping through the gash.
"You're persistent." he muttered, voice steady despite the pain.
The Fiend hissed, saliva dripping from its fangs as it crouched low, preparing to pounce.
The other Knights weren't faring much better.
Their Aura, a shared beacon of hope, flickered as exhaustion set in. Beams of radiant energy lanced through the air, searing through Fiend flesh, but it wasn't enough.
"Keep pushing!" one shouted, his blade severing a Fiend's head in one fluid motion. Yet desperation hung heavy in the air, for every Fiend that fell, another took its place.
A younger Knight, barely older than twenty, stumbled. A Fiend capitalized on his weakness, its claws raking across his chest. He collapsed, choking on his own blood, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The remaining Knights pressed on, their exhaustion palpable. Each movement screamed of sacrifice, their Aura blazing defiantly against the encroaching creatures.
The climax of Krown's battle came suddenly.
The Fiend rushed forward, claws glowing faintly with an eerie blue light, slashing toward his neck.
Krown's reaction was instant.
He sidestepped, his greatsword pivoting in a tight arc. The blade connected, slicing clean through the Fiend's arm. Blue blood sprayed across the battlefield, sizzling as it hit the glowing constructs surrounding him.
The beast reeled, its shrieks piercing the night, but Krown gave no quarter.
His Aura expanded, unfurling like a storm. It coalesced into the spectral figure of a knight around him — an ethereal figure of radiant gold. This was when his Aura property struck true.
The Fiend hesitated, its grotesque ear-holes twitching as if sensing its doom.
"Too late." Krown said, his voice a death sentence.
His greatsword moved in a burning arc, splitting the Fiend's torso without resistance. Flesh and bone gave way under the weight of his strike, the golden Aura incinerating all it touched.
The remains crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
For a moment, the battlefield stilled.
Krown exhaled, his breath misting in the cold night air. Around him, the Knights continued to fight, their numbers halved.
Unyielding, they fought on.
He sheathed his greatsword, its Aura flickering before vanishing entirely. His focus shifted to the remaining Fiends.
"Enough." he growled, his voice carrying over the chaos.
The Knights rallied at his words, their movements growing sharper, more unified. The tide, once overwhelming, began to shift.
Krown strode forward, his presence alone enough to send ripples of fear through the lesser Fiends. With a gesture, he summoned his Aura, once more wreathing the battlefield in golden light.
"Finish this." he commanded.
And so they did.
The clearing fell silent at last, save for the labored breathing of the survivors. Ten men stood — fourteen, counting the royals and their captive — battered but unbroken, their weapons slick with blood.
Krown surveyed them, his expression unreadable.
"You fought well." Krown said, his tone devoid of flourish but heavy with respect.
The remaining Knights nodded, their gazes heavy with the weight of loss.
Krown sensed as his nephew and niece fell tired. Next to one of the lesser Fiends they had culled. When the dust settled, Krown and his cohort stood victorious. He turned toward the twins, they had come out victorious in their desperate battle with the third Tier-3 Fiend. Their movements were frantic but skilled, the raw potential of their abilities shining through their inexperience. He was impressed.
From his vantage point, Athaan watched it all, his heart pounding.
Athaan's lips pressed into a thin line. "This is what it takes," he whispered. "To stand."