The shop reeked of burnt herbs and old leather, its shelves crammed with glowing vials and rune-carved wands. Dust danced in the dim light slicing through narrow windows. Benjamin, broad-shouldered and road-worn, loomed at the counter, his sharp eyes pinning the shopkeeper, a wiry man with a crooked nose and twitchy hands.
"I need a wind crystal," Benjamin said, voice low, cutting the silence.
The shopkeeper's lips curled cautiously. "Rare. Costs a fortune."
"Price doesn't matter. If it's good, I'll buy. Will it last?"
"Long as you need, sir," the shopkeeper said smoothly.
Benjamin's jaw clenched. He slapped a cracked, dull crystal onto the counter, its faint glow sputtering. "You sold me this. Said it'd last. It broke in one fight."
The shopkeeper flinched, hands fluttering. "A mistake, sir—"
"No excuses," Benjamin growled, leaning closer. "Something stronger. Now."
Swallowing, the shopkeeper unlocked a drawer, revealing a diamond-shaped crystal, pale blue and pulsing with a sharp hum. The air stirred faintly around it. "My best wind crystal. Pure power. I'll discount it for your trouble."
Benjamin eyed the crystal, its glow like a storm's edge. "How much?"
The shopkeeper named a steep price. Benjamin nodded. "Done."
"Careful," the shopkeeper warned, handing it over. "It's strong. Overuse it, you'll die. But if you're worthy, it might bond with you, wind power, yours forever, no crystal needed."
Benjamin's fingers closed around the buzzing crystal, cool against his palm. He tossed coins on the counter and strode out, the door's bell jangling.
In the city's dusty heat, he marched toward the palace, its spires glinting gold. At the gates, Michael leaned against a pillar, eyes sharp. "Did you get what you looked for?"
Benjamin tapped the pouch at his belt, the crystal humming faintly. "Yes, i got what i want."
Michael smirked. "Good. Let's move."
They passed the gates, the crystal's pulse trailing like a storm's whisper.
The palace courtyard lay under a heavy dusk, its stone walls glowing faintly in the dying sun. Benjamin and Michael stood near the gates, the wind crystal's pulse a steady thrum at Benjamin's hip. Michael paced, his boots scraping the cobblestones, his eyes scanning the empty path beyond. "Where the hell is Alfred?" he growled, voice tight.
Benjamin leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, the crystal's weight a quiet warning in his pouch. "With his friends, probably drowning in ale." His tone was flat, but his gaze flicked to the horizon, where the sky churned bruise-dark, heavy with menace.
Michael stopped, hand on his sword hilt. "He knows what's coming. He'd better show."
But the minutes dragged, and no lopsided grin or jaunty call broke the silence. The path stayed empty. Benjamin's jaw tightened, a flicker of unease in his chest. "He's not coming."
Michael cursed under his breath. "Damn fool. We can't wait."
A low horn wailed from the watchtower, sharp and mournful, cutting the air. The courtyard froze, knights, squires, all eyes turning to the sound. Benjamin's hand drifted to the crystal, its hum sharpening, as if it sensed the storm before the storm.
Michael's face turned to stone. "Border signal. They're here."
Benjamin nodded, eyes on the darkening ridge. "Demon army. Septon's about to burn."
Night swallowed the kingdom, clouds choking the stars. The palace grounds pulsed with urgency, knights buckling on armor, steel clanking as squires hauled shields and whetstones rasped against blades. Torches threw jagged light across grim faces, painting them in fire and shadow.
On the ramparts, Benjamin gripped the wind crystal, its pale blue glow leaking through his fingers. Below, Septon's knights formed ranks, their banners snapping in a restless wind. Michael, now in plated armor, stood beside him, breath clouding in the chill. "Scouts say thousands. Hellhounds, winged fiends, things we don't have names for."
Benjamin's grip tightened, the crystal's pulse thrumming up his arm, eager. "We break their line first, numbers won't matter."
Michael glanced at him, eyes hard. "Without Alfred? He's our best chance for the fight."
"He made his choice," Benjamin said, voice cold, though the shopkeeper's warning gnawed at him, 'push it too far, it'll drain you dead.' He shoved the thought down. No time for it.
A knight below roared orders, and the ranks locked shields, a wall of steel glinting in the torchlight. The air grew thick, carrying a foul stench, sulfur, rot, and something sharper, like dread. From the ridge came a low rumble, spiked with guttural snarls and the leathery snap of wings.
Michael drew his sword, its edge flashing. "We hold till dawn. Smash their spine."
Benjamin's eyes narrowed, the crystal's hum syncing with his pulse, its glow flaring as if tasting the fight. Beyond the ridge, the demon army stirred, their ember-eyes piercing the dark, hungry for blood.
The night was a suffocating black, the air thick with sulfur and decay. Beyond Septon's towering walls, the demon army's ember-eyes blazed like a wildfire, their claws and wings churning the dark. Benjamin stood on the frost-crusted plain outside the gates, the wind crystal's pulse a frantic thrum at his hip, mirroring his pounding heart. Michael, armored and steely, gripped his sword beside him, breath fogging in the icy air. Behind them, Septon's knights formed a tight line of steel, shields locked, faces carved with grim resolve under torchlight.
On the ramparts, General Norman, a towering figure with a scarred face and iron will, roared orders, his voice a thunderclap. "Archers, nock! Aim for the hounds' necks, drop 'em fast!" His eyes burned with unshaken courage, his presence a anchor in the chaos. "Mages, stagger your casts! Fire, water, stone, keep it tight, no gaps!"
Archers, hands steady despite the cold, drew bowstrings taut. Mages flanked them, hands aglow, crimson, blue, gray, arcane sparks hissing. A knight on the wall, his voice low, muttered to his partner, "Gods, look at that horde. We're staring into the abyss itself."
"Quit whining, Gav," growled another, older knight, adjusting his helm. "We've got Norman. He's faced worse and laughed."
The ridge erupted. Demons surged, hellhounds with jaws like steel traps, winged fiends with glinting talons, and shapeless horrors slithering through the mass. The ground shook, their roars tearing the night. "Loose!" Norman bellowed. Arrows screamed skyward, a deadly swarm glinting before slamming into the horde. Hounds collapsed, fiends fell, but the tide barely faltered.
"Mages, hit 'em!" Norman shouted. Fireballs roared, blasting demons to ash. Water lashed out, sweeping fiends down, while stone shards ripped through flesh. The demons' screeches clawed the air, but they kept coming, relentless.
Benjamin clutched the wind crystal, its blue glow flaring, urging release. Michael's eyes burned. "They're not slowing," he said, voice taut.
"Didn't expect them to," Benjamin replied, the crystal's hum vibrating in his bones.
Then, a tremor shook the earth, deeper, heavier. The horde parted, and a giant demon lumbered forward, its massive frame dwarfing the rest, a hulking beast, twenty feet tall, with molten-red eyes and arms like battering rams, each step cracking the frozen ground. Its roar shook the walls, a sound of pure malice.
Norman's voice cut through the panic. "All fire on the giant! Archers, mages, bring it down, now!" Arrows and spells shifted, a barrage of steel and magic hammering the beast. Fireballs scorched its hide, water torrents battered its legs, stone shards chipped its armor-like skin. The giant staggered but pressed on, each step a quake.
On the ramparts, a knight's voice cracked. "It's still coming! What's it take to kill that thing?"
"Everything we've got!" the older knight snarled, nocking another arrow. "Keep firing, or we're all dead!"
The smaller demons, hounds and fiends, seized the opening, sprinting past the giant, their speed terrifying, claws tearing up dirt as they closed on the walls. Benjamin's grip tightened, unleashing a wind blast that scattered a pack of hounds, their bodies tumbling like leaves. The crystal's pulse grew heavy, a faint ache creeping up his arm, the shopkeeper's warning whispering: 'It'll drain you dead.'
Michael cleaved a fiend's wing, blood spraying. "They're too fast! We can't hold 'em all!"
Norman's roar boomed from above. "Knights, brace the line! Don't let those bastards through!" But the giant loomed closer, shrugging off the barrage, its eyes locked on the gates. The smaller demons swarmed, their roars swelling, and the knights' line trembled under the weight of the oncoming tide.