The frontlines shake as Nyssara's massive shield-bearers march forward, their stone bulwarks grinding up from the soil with every step. Arrows and bolts of mana slam into the raised walls, sparking and snapping, but they hold. Behind them, monstrous infantry howl and press forward, emboldened by the cover.
Nyssara thrusts out one of her jagged blade-limbs, her voice booming over the battlefield.
"Push! Grind their little pits into dust!"
At once, her units channel their earth mana deeper, hardening the soft earth until it becomes solid stone. The trenches and shallow pits dug by Lefast's soldiers lose their bite—collapsing edges become flat ground, spikes dulled as if swallowed by stone itself. The clever ambushes are neutralized in moments.
A soldier on the wall gasps, his knuckles white around his spear.
"They… they've ruined the pits. All that work, wasted!"
But Velira doesn't flinch. Her crimson cloak snaps in the smoky wind as she watches, calm, steady.
