Nine human soldiers vanished into pit traps with screaming suddenness. The formation behind them froze in shock.
Then the spike barriers deployed with brutal mechanical precision. Four more soldiers went down, impaled or pinned by the sudden barriers.
And then Thrak, watching from a concealed position, triggered the oil ignition.
Flames erupted across a forty-foot stretch of ground. Not massive—carefully measured to create more terror than casualties—but the psychological impact was devastating. The tight formation broke as soldiers scrambled backward, some on fire, others dragging wounded comrades, all discipline momentarily shattered.
Settlement archers chose that moment to open up from concealed positions. Not to kill—Lyra's orders were specific—but to punish. Arrows rained down, targeting legs, arms, exposed backs. Seventeen more casualties in thirty seconds of concentrated fire.
