A few months had passed since the tournament, the crisp bite of spring giving way to the heavy warmth of late summer in Saint Valens. The city's central sprawl remained a fortress of stone and steel, its towers piercing a sky now streaked with the golden hues of dusk, but beyond its walls, the region stretched into wilder reaches—rolling hills to the west, the Sundered Sea's shimmer to the south, and a rugged northeastern expanse where farmland met dense thickets and rocky outcrops. It was here, in this untamed corner, that whispers had begun to stir among the shepherds and hunters: tales of livestock torn apart, hoofprints giving way to claw marks, and shadows moving too fast to be wolves. The rumors reached the Veltharion Clan, filtering up from the common folk to the Legion VI barracks, until they landed in the ears of Voren, the Velta tasked with overseeing the Initiates.
The briefing took place in a low-ceilinged chamber beneath one of Saint Valens' outer watchtowers, its walls rough-hewn stone damp with the scent of earth and oil. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, casting flickering light over a battered wooden table where a crude map of the northeastern quadrant lay unfurled—inked lines marking streams, hills, and a cluster of farmsteads near a jagged ravine. Koryn stood at the head, the senior Velta—a broad-shouldered man in his mid-50s, his white hair spilling past his shoulders in a loose cascade streaked with silver from age. His face was weathered, a deep scar running from his brow to his cheekbone, a memento from an Apex demon he'd felled decades ago. His sword hung sheathed at his hip, its hilt worn smooth by a lifetime of grip. His deep voice rumbled as he traced a thick finger along the map, pointing to the ravine. "If they're hunting, they'll stick close to that drop—there, they have cover and water. Stalkers, most likely."
To his left stood Voren, his white cloak draped over his silver sleeveless top, the hood down to reveal his white hair tied in a tight knot. His gray eyes followed Koryn's lead, his twin swords at his hips gleaming faintly. He'd known Koryn since he was an Initiate, knocked down by the older man's sparring until he learned to stand; now, he deferred to the senior Velta's command. To Koryn's right was Elyra, a woman in her mid-40s, her white hair cropped close, her green eyes glinting with quiet intensity. Her twin small swords mirrored Voren's, notched from a decade of missions alongside him across Zang Duc and Leon. She tapped the map near the farmsteads, her voice low. "Shepherds saw them near here two nights ago. Three kills, messy. Could be Ravagers if they're bold enough."
Behind them, 20 soldiers from Legion VI stood in two neat rows, their beige uniforms crisp despite the day's heat, full-face helmets tucked under their arms. Their bolt-action rifles—five-shot, slow to reload—hung slung over their shoulders, barrels gleaming from fresh oiling. A single Captain led them: Captain Toris, a stocky man with a square jaw, his blue uniform marking him as the sole officer for this mission. Normally commanding 250 in the full legion, he'd handpicked these 20 for their steady aim, his gruff voice steady as he stood at attention.
Koryn straightened, his scarred gaze sweeping the room. "Rumors say demons—few in number, hunting animals. Could be nothing, could be a nest starting. We confirm it, and if it's true, we kill them. I've got point, Voren and Elyra flank. Soldiers hold the perimeter—Toris, keep your men tight, no gaps. We move at first light, reach the spot by night tomorrow. Questions?" Silence answered, the soldiers' faces set, Voren and Elyra nodding once. Koryn grunted, "Good. Sleep light," and the briefing ended, the group filing out into the fading day.
The journey began at dawn, the sky a pale wash of pink as the unit left Saint Valens' northeastern gate. The terrain shifted quickly—cobblestone paths gave way to dirt tracks winding through golden fields of wheat, the stalks swaying in a warm breeze. The soldiers marched in a double column, their boots thudding in rhythm, rifles swaying with each step. Koryn led at the front, his heavy strides setting the pace, his white cloak billowing slightly, Voren to his left, Elyra to his right, their movements synced despite their differences. Captain Toris kept the squad in check, his low "Eyes up" cutting through the march when a soldier's gaze drifted, his presence a steady anchor for the 20.
By midday, the fields thinned, replaced by rolling hills studded with gnarled oaks and patches of bramble. The sun climbed high, beating down on the unit, sweat beading under the soldiers' helmets as they donned them, the full-face metal clanking faintly. Koryn's broad frame cast a shadow ahead, his hand resting near his sword at his hip as he scanned the ridgelines. Voren paused once, crouching to examine a snapped branch—too clean for wind, too high for deer. "Something's been through," he muttered, and Koryn nodded, his scar creasing as he frowned. Elyra's green eyes traced the horizon, her silence a quiet agreement as the terrain grew wilder.
Night fell as they neared the northeastern expanse, the sky a deep indigo pricked with stars, the air cooling into a damp chill. The ravine loomed ahead, a jagged scar cutting through the landscape, its edges thick with thornbushes and stunted trees, barely visible in the moonlight. The farmsteads lay a mile west, their thatched roofs lost to the dark, but the unit veered toward the ravine's lip, where the rumors pointed. The scent shifted—damp stone and rotting leaves, laced with a faint metallic tang that set nerves on edge. Koryn raised a hand, halting the march, and the soldiers fanned out into a loose semicircle, rifles at the ready, their beige uniforms fading into the shadows. Captain Toris positioned his 20 along the perimeter, his gruff whisper—"Hold steady"—keeping them in line, helmets glinting faintly under the stars.
Koryn stepped to the ravine's edge, his long white hair glowing silver in the moonlight as he peered down. The drop was steep, 30 feet to a narrow stream shimmering below, its banks littered with rocks and tangled roots, shrouded in darkness. "Too quiet," he rumbled, his deep voice carrying a weight that stilled the air. Elyra joined him, her green eyes narrowing as she traced the opposite bank, spotting a smear of dark red on a boulder—blood, fresh enough to gleam faintly. "Not wolves," she said, her hand drifting to one of her swords. Voren crouched beside a clawed footprint in the mud—three toes, deep, not human. "Stalkers," he confirmed, standing, his voice low but firm. "At least two. Maybe more."
The soldiers shifted, their helmets turning as they scanned the thickets, fingers hovering near triggers. Koryn drew his single sword from his hip, its silver-black blade whispering free. Voren and Elyra unsheathed their twin swords, the blades glinting like shards of moonlight, their notched edges catching the faint glow. The unit braced, eyes on the ravine, the silence stretching taut as they waited for the demons to show themselves—or for Koryn to lead them down into the dark to root them out. The mission had begun in earnest, the rumor no longer a whisper but a claw-marked truth under the starlit sky.
The silence broke with a distant rustle—soft at first, like wind through the thornbushes, but sharper, twitchy. Koryn's head tilted, his scar creasing as he squinted into the ravine's depths. "There," he rumbled, pointing with his sword to a flicker of movement along the stream's far bank, some 200 yards off. The others followed his gaze, and shapes began to resolve in the moonlight—hulking, humanoid figures prowling on all fours, just under four feet at the shoulder, slightly smaller than a lion but radiating a deadly presence. Ravagers, four of them, their smooth, dark flesh clinging tight to athletic, reptilian frames, sinewy muscle flexing beneath semi-translucent, oily skin. Their elongated skulls split into cavernous maws, bristling with rows of needle-like teeth, long pointed tongues slithering free to taste the air. Small slit-eyes glinted faintly, nearly invisible, as they tore at a carcass—likely a sheep—their grotesque, clawed hands with unnaturally long fingers slashing through flesh. Digitigrade legs twitched beneath them, poised for terrifying bursts, while faint ridges ran down their spines, ending in small, backward-facing spikes above their tailbones. Their growls were sharp, a twitchy menace echoing up the ravine.
"Ravagers," Voren muttered, his voice taut, counting them as they fed. "I only count 4 of them." Beside them skittered taller, leaner shapes—three Stalkers, their long, blade-like arms catching the moonlight, faint luminescent lines pulsing along their joints as they darted between the Ravagers with unnatural fluidity. Their bodies glowed eerily when they paused, heads swiveling, eyes hidden in shadow but senses keen. They moved fast and twitchy, tails lashing, their vicious forms built for ambush—cowardly hunters lurking in the dark. Elyra's grip tightened on her swords, her cropped white hair shifting as she leaned forward. "Seven total. We can take them," she said, her tone clipped, already mapping their lunges.
Captain Toris hissed a quiet "Hold position"—the soldiers adjusted, rifles raised but still, their breathing shallow behind helmets. Koryn nodded once, his scarred face set, and gestured for the Velta to advance. The unit crept forward, boots silent on the rocky ground, cloaks brushing thornbushes as they descended the slope, using stunted trees for cover. The demons remained focused—the Ravagers shredding their kill, tongues twitching, while the Stalkers circled, their glowing joints pulsing as they sniffed the air, oblivious to the threat above.
They'd closed half the distance—100 yards now—when the night shuddered. A guttural, simmering growl rolled up from the ravine's eastern end, deeper than the Ravagers', heavier, radiating quiet menace that froze the unit mid-step. Koryn's hand shot up, halting them, his gray eyes widening as two towering shapes emerged from the shadows beyond the pack. Apex predators—nearly twelve feet tall when upright, their bodies a terrifying blend of brute strength and primal design. Elongated, crocodile-like skulls gleamed with jagged, uneven teeth—some chipped, others grotesquely long—dripping black and thick saliva on the ground. Sunken eyes hid beneath thick and ridged bone. Thick muscles stretched across broad chests, raw red tissue peeking through stone-like plating that armored their hides. Massive upper limbs ended in long, curved claws, while smaller, twitching arms beneath their ribs flexed restlessly. Digitigrade legs coiled with power, and sinewy tails with four-pronged tips lashed behind, grabbing at the air like second jaws. Every move simmered with rage, a quiet menace shaking the earth.
The Velta froze, white cloaks stark against the dark as shock crashed through them. Koryn's breath hitched, his sword dipping, his weathered face paling in a way Voren had never seen. "Apex…" he rasped, disbelief choking his rumble. Apex predators were almost never seen during those days—rare killers from clan legends, their sightings a decade apart, never in pairs, never with packs. Voren's gray eyes darted between them, his twin swords trembling—not fear, but the sheer impossibility. "Two," he hissed, voice breaking. "With Ravagers and Stalkers—they don't—" Elyra's green eyes widened, her calm shattering as she stared at the giants joining the pack. The lesser demons shifted, Ravagers snarling, Stalkers' glowing lines flaring as they orbited the Apex, drawn by some primal pull. "They're leading them," she said, urgent, her mind reeling. "That's not—they can't—"
Captain Toris barked a shaky "Quiet!" as soldiers murmured, rifles wavering, helmets turning in panic. His square jaw clenched, staring at the Apex—claws rending air, tails coiling—knowing 20 rifles wouldn't scratch them. Koryn's mind raced, decades of scars flashing back—an Apex nearly killed him once, saved only by his mentor's sacrifice. Two, with seven others? Madness. The Ravagers' needle-teeth glinted as they pawed the ground, the Stalkers' blade-arms twitched, and the Apex growled again, a sound that vibrated through bones, their sunken eyes turning toward the ridge.
"We can't take them," Koryn said, his rumble low, final, his scarred hand clenching his sword's hilt at his hip. Voren's head snapped to him, protesting—"We've handled—" but Koryn's glare silenced him. "Not two Apex. Not this." Elyra nodded, sweat beading despite the chill, her face grim. "He's right. We'd lose everyone before we reached them." Toris edged closer, his blue uniform dark, voice hoarse. "Orders, sir?" His soldiers trembled—five shots each, too slow to reload against those claws and tails.
Koryn weighed it, pride warring with survival. Retreat stung, but death was certain. "We pull back," he decided, voice hardening. "Quietly. Back to the ridge, now." Voren lowered his swords with a tight nod, jaw clenched. Elyra exhaled, her eyes lingering on the Apex—saliva dripping, smaller arms twitching—as she backed away silently. Toris whispered—"Fall back, slow"—and the soldiers retreated, beige forms melting into thornbushes, rifles aimed but shaking. The nearest Apex reared, sniffing with its ridged skull, its four-pronged tail cracking the air, but it didn't charge—not yet. The pack stirred, Ravagers snarling, Stalkers hissing, their glow pulsing under the Apex's shadow.
At the ravine's lip, Koryn paused, his white hair stark as he glanced back. "We need more," he muttered, urgency edging his deep voice. "Half of Legion VI. And Veltharions—, maybe a Grand Master." Elyra's lips thinned, her agreement absolute. "Lysara needs to know," she said, hard. "This isn't a pack—it's a nest, and it's growing." Voren's gray eyes burned, fists tight on his swords. "We come back with a legion, we end it," he growled, shock turning to resolve.
Koryn sheathed his sword at his hip with a soft clink, his scarred hand steady. "Move," he ordered, and the unit slipped into the night, the ravine fading behind. The Apex's guttural menace echoed, a promise of slaughter delayed—but not denied. They'd return with half of Legion VI, more Veltharions, and the clan's full wrath to face a nightmare unseen in centuries.
The retreat had begun in tense silence, the unit slipping back toward the ravine's lip under the shroud of night. The starlit sky cast faint glimmers on the thornbushes and stunted trees, the air thick with the damp chill and the lingering tang of blood. Koryn led the way, his broad frame hunched slightly, his sword sheathed at his hip, its hilt gripped tight by his scarred hand. His long white hair glowed silver in the moonlight, a beacon as he moved with deliberate care, boots silent on the rocky ground. Voren followed to his left, twin small swords lowered but ready, his gray eyes darting to the ravine below where the Apex predators loomed. Elyra flanked Koryn's right, her own twin swords poised, her green eyes sharp as she scanned the shadows, her cropped white hair shifting with each step. Behind them, Captain Toris guided his 20 soldiers, their beige uniforms fading into the dark, full-face helmets glinting faintly as they gripped their rifles, stepping backward with breaths held.
They'd made it halfway up the slope—50 yards from the ridge—when a sharp crack split the stillness. A soldier near the rear, a young man with sweat-slick hands, misjudged his step, his boot snapping a dry branch beneath a thornbush. The sound rang out like a gunshot in the taut quiet, echoing off the ravine walls. Every head froze, eyes widening as the Apex predators below reacted instantly. The nearest Apex let out a guttural growl, a simmering rage that vibrated through the earth, its four-pronged tail lashing with a crack. The second pivoted, its massive claws flexing, smaller arms twitching beneath its ribs as it locked onto the sound. Their stone-plated hides shimmered black-red in the moonlight, muscles coiling beneath.
Koryn's breath caught, his scar creasing as he hissed, "Damn it—" but there was no time. The Apex charged, explosive bursts of speed erupting from their digitigrade legs, twelve-foot frames hurtling up the slope with terrifying power. The ground shook with each stride, their claws rending dirt and rock, tails whipping behind like constricting vines. The soldiers gasped, rifles jerking up, but panic seized them—20 shots wouldn't stop this. Voren's gray eyes flashed, Elyra's green ones narrowed, and Koryn's resolve hardened in an instant.
"Go!" Koryn roared, his deep voice booming over the chaos, turning to Captain Toris. "Send Legion VI to us—we'll hold them!" His scarred hand ripped his single sword free from his hip, as he spun toward the charging Apex. Toris barked a frantic "Move, now!" and the soldiers bolted, beige forms scrambling up the slope, helmets clanking as they fled toward Saint Valens, rifles bouncing against their backs.
No sooner had Koryn's command faded than Voren and Elyra acted, their white cloaks flaring as they leapt from cover in unison. Voren's twin swords flashed free, their notched edges slicing the air, his lean frame a blur as he aimed for the left Apex. Elyra mirrored him, her own twin blades drawn, her wiry form darting right, green eyes locked on the second beast. Koryn bellowed a final yell—"Hold the line!"—and jumped out, his broad shoulders squared, single sword raised as he met the charge head-on.
The fight erupted in seconds. The left Apex reached Voren first, its massive claw swiping down with bone-crushing force. Voren twisted, his small swords slashing upward, carving a gash across its stone-plated arm—red blood sprayed, bright and vivid, splattering his cloak. The beast snarled, saliva dripping from its jagged teeth, and swung again, its smaller arms lunging. A claw raked Voren's side, tearing through his silver top and drawing a sharp hiss as blood welled—his own, red against white. He ducked its whipping tail, four prongs snapping shut, and thrust a blade into its ribs, piercing the raw tissue beneath its armor. More red blood oozed, but the Apex roared, undeterred, its claw slamming down and grazing his shoulder, forcing him back.
Elyra met the right Apex with a leap, her twin swords slashing at its digitigrade leg. The blade sank into muscle, red blood spurting, but the beast pivoted with terrifying speed, its crocodile skull snapping toward her. She flipped back, landing in a crouch, but its smaller arms lashed out, one claw slashing her thigh—her cloak tore, blood streaking her leg as she gritted her teeth. She darted in again, blades whirling, nicking its chest where plating gapped, drawing another spray of red. The Apex lunged, its tail coiling toward her, and she rolled aside, the prongs grazing her arm, leaving a shallow cut as she sprang up, panting but fierce.
Koryn faced both, his single sword a heavy arc as he intercepted the left Apex's next swing. The clash rang out—metal on claw—his blade slicing its forearm, red blood dripping as he pushed back. The beast's tail whipped, wrapping toward his legs, but he sidestepped, slashing its smaller arms and severing a claw—red sprayed across his chest. The right Apex charged him, its massive claw raking his shoulder, tearing his cloak and drawing a deep gash. Koryn growled, his white hair whipping as he swung wide, his sword biting into its maw, cracking a tooth and spilling more red. The impact jarred his arms, blood trickling from his wound, but he held firm, stance unshaken.
Below, the pack stirred. The four Ravagers abandoned their carcass, their sleek, four-foot frames surging up the slope, oily skin shimmering as they ran on digitigrade legs. Their cavernous maws opened, needle-like teeth bared, long tongues slithering as they snarled, a twitchy, sadistic edge to their charge. The three Stalkers followed, taller and leaner, their blade-like arms glowing with faint luminescent lines, pulsing bright as they sprinted with unnatural fluidity. Their movements were fast, twitchy, tails lashing as they flanked the Ravagers, yellow eyes glinting in the dark. The pack closed the gap, 150 yards and shrinking, their snarls and hisses rising into a cacophony that drowned the soldiers' retreating footsteps.
A few moments in, the fight teetered on a brutal edge. Voren ducked another tail grab, his twin swords carving a deeper gash across the left Apex's chest—red blood splashed, staining the dirt—but its claw caught his arm, a jagged tear opening as he stumbled back, grimacing. Elyra weaved between the right Apex's strikes, her blades sinking into its leg again, red pooling beneath, but its smaller arms snatched at her, a claw slashing her side, blood soaking her tunic as she bit back a cry. Koryn roared, his single sword parrying a claw from one Apex, then slashing the other's maw, red dripping from its cracked teeth—its tail lashed, wrapping his leg briefly, bruising flesh before he broke free, his shoulder bleeding freely. The Ravagers and Stalkers neared—100 yards now—their speed a blur, their intent clear: overwhelm the Velta before help could come.
The three stood firm, cloaks shredded, blades flashing, blood—theirs and the demons'—staining the ground red. The Apex towered over them, rage simmering in every move, their senses alight and relentless. The pack closed in, a storm of teeth and blades, and the night became a crucible of survival—one the Velta would hold, battered and bleeding, until Legion VI arrived.
The fight raged on the ravine's slope, a brutal clash of steel and claw under the starlit sky. Koryn's broad frame stood firm, his single sword flashing as he parried a massive claw from the left Apex, red blood dripping from a gash he'd carved across its forearm. His white cloak hung in tatters, his shoulder bleeding freely from a deep rake, his leg bruised from a tail's brief grip. Voren danced with the same beast, his twin swords slashing a fresh wound across its chest—red blood sprayed, staining his torn silver top—but his arm bore a jagged tear, his side aching from an earlier claw strike. Elyra weaved against the right Apex, her twin blades sinking into its digitigrade leg, red pooling beneath, though her thigh bled from a slash, her side raw from a glancing blow. The Apex towered over them, twelve-foot giants of muscle and stone-like plating, their crocodile-like skulls snapping with jagged teeth, thick saliva dripping as their four-pronged tails lashed. The Velta fought on, battered but unyielding, their blades drawing red from the beasts even as their own wounds deepened.
The pack closed in—100 yards now—the four Ravagers and three Stalkers a blur of menace surging up the slope. The Ravagers, sleek and four feet tall at the shoulder, charged with oily skin shimmering, their cavernous maws bristling with needle-like teeth, long tongues slithering as they snarled with twitchy, sadistic intent. Their digitigrade legs propelled them forward, clawed hands slashing air, faint spinal ridges glinting in the moonlight. The Stalkers flanked them, taller and leaner, their blade-like arms glowing with faint luminescent lines that pulsed bright, tails lashing as they sprinted with unnatural fluidity. Their snarls and hisses drowned the night, a storm of teeth and blades aimed straight for the fight—70 yards, then 50, their speed relentless.
Koryn braced, his gray eyes flicking to the pack as he blocked another claw, expecting the Ravagers' shredding teeth and the Stalkers' slashing arms to crash into their line. Voren ducked a tail swipe, his blood-streaked face tightening as he readied for the onslaught, twin swords poised. Elyra pivoted, her green eyes narrowing as she tracked the glowing Stalkers, her wounded leg trembling but holding. The demons were beasts—mindless, driven by instinct, always rushing toward chaos like moths to flame. A fight this loud, this violent, should've pulled them in like gravity.
But then—30 yards out—the pack veered. The Ravagers' snarls shifted pitch, their clawed hands digging into the dirt as they swerved left, away from the Velta, their slit-eyes locked on the ridge. The Stalkers followed, their luminescent lines flaring as they pivoted with twitchy speed, blade-arms slicing thorns as they charged not at the fight, but toward the fleeing soldiers. The move was sudden, deliberate, a hunting pack abandoning the melee for the scattered beige figures scrambling up the slope—a choice no beast should make.
Shock hit the Velta like a blow. Koryn's sword faltered mid-swing, his scarred face twisting as the left Apex's claw grazed his chest, tearing fabric but missing flesh. "What—" he rasped, his deep voice cracking, eyes wide as the pack bypassed them. Voren stumbled back from a tail lash, his gray eyes darting to the Ravagers, disbelief seizing him. "They're not—they don't think—" he stammered, blood dripping from his arm as he stared. Elyra froze mid-strike, her blades hovering, her green eyes tracking the Stalkers' glowing forms. "They're chasing the soldiers," she hissed, her voice sharp with confusion, her wounded side heaving. "That's not instinct—they don't do that!"
The Apex roared, undeterred, their massive claws swinging as the Velta reeled, but the pack's defection left them reeling harder. Ravagers and Stalkers were chaos-driven—brutes and ambushers drawn to blood and noise, not strategists hunting escapees. Yet there they went, 50 yards from the fight now, closing on the ridge where Captain Toris and his 20 soldiers had nearly reached the top, their retreat a frantic scramble of clanking helmets and bouncing rifles.
Toris heard the snarls first, his square jaw tightening as he glanced back mid-run. The Ravagers' needle-teeth glinted, their tongues slithering as they surged—200 yards and shrinking fast. The Stalkers' glowing arms pulsed, their fluid strides eating ground, yellow eyes locked on the stragglers. "Demons!" Toris bellowed, his gruff voice hoarse with alarm, skidding to a halt on the ridge. "Turn—form up!" The soldiers stumbled, panic flashing across sweat-slick faces beneath their helmets. They'd been fleeing, not fighting—rifles slung, legs burning—but now the pack was on them, a nightmare defying every drill they'd learned.
"Rifles up!" Toris barked, yanking his own bolt-action free, slamming a round into the chamber as he dropped to a knee. The 20 spun, beige uniforms whirling, helmets clanking as they fumbled into a ragged line. Hands shook. but they raised barrels, aiming downslope at the charging demons. A young soldier, the branch-snapper, gasped, his rifle trembling as he sighted a Ravager's maw, its long fingers clawing earth 150 yards out. Another gritted his teeth, leveling at a Stalker's glowing arm, its twitchy lunge cutting the gap to 140. Toris's blue uniform stood out, his small white cloak flapping as he roared, "Hold—aim for the heads!"
The soldiers braced, boots digging into the rocky ridge, rifles steadying as sweat beaded under helmets. The Ravagers snarled, their oily skin shimmering, 130 yards now, tongues tasting the air. The Stalkers hissed, blade-arms slashing thorns, 120 yards, their glowing lines pulsing like warning flares. The pack's charge was relentless, a coordinated hunt—impossible, yet real—leaving the Velta below in stunned chaos.
Back on the slope, Koryn parried a claw, his bloodied shoulder screaming as he snapped his gaze to the ridge. "They're—" he growled, cut off by the left Apex's tail cracking near his head. Voren slashed its ribs, red blood splashing, but his eyes flicked up, shock deepening his grimace. "They're thinking," he muttered, ducking a claw that tore his cloak further. Elyra drove her blade into the right Apex's leg, red oozing, but her wounded thigh buckled as she stared at the pack. "That's not—they're beasts!" she spat, disbelief warring with pain. The Apex pressed harder, claws and tails relentless, their red blood mingling with the Velta's on the dirt. Above, the soldiers steadied, rifles cocked, breaths ragged as the Ravagers and Stalkers closed—100 yards now—a storm of teeth and blades bearing down. Toris's voice rose, firm despite the chaos: "Fire on my mark!" The line tensed, fingers on triggers, preparing to meet a charge that defied everything they knew about demons.
Koryn's gray eyes flicked up mid-parry, catching the Ravagers' oily forms and the Stalkers' glowing blade-arms, disbelief still burning. Beasts didn't think—yet here they hunted the fleeing, not the fighting. He locked eyes with Voren, no time for words—his scarred face tightened, a sharp nod tilting toward the ridge. Voren understood instantly, his gray eyes flashing as he broke from the Apex, twin swords lowered but dripping red.
Voren sprinted, his lean frame a blur, white cloak flapping shredded behind him. His boots pounded the rocky slope, blood trailing from his arm and side, but his focus was iron—full speed, no hesitation, the ridge 50 yards ahead. Below, Koryn roared, his single sword slashing the left Apex's maw to draw its rage, while Elyra ducked a tail swipe, her blades nicking the right Apex's smaller arms, their red blood mingling with hers on the dirt.
At the ridge, Toris bellowed, "Fire!" The soldiers' rifles cracked in unison, a staccato thunder splitting the night. Twenty bolts tore downslope—five shots each, aimed at heads as the pack hit 70 yards. Two Ravagers staggered, their cavernous maws exploding in red as bullets punched through oily skin and needle-teeth, skulls collapsing inward. They crumpled, twitching, 60 yards out, red pooling beneath. Two Stalkers fell next, their glowing blade-arms dimming as shots shredded their lean chests, red blood spraying as they skidded into the dirt, tails lashing once before stilling, 50 yards from the line.
But the volley wasn't enough. Two Ravagers and one Stalker survived, wounded but charging—40 yards now. A Ravager's shoulder bled red from a grazing shot, its long fingers clawing earth, tongue slithering as it snarled. The second Ravager limped, a bullet lodged in its digitigrade leg, red oozing, but its maw snapped hungrily. The Stalker's side was torn, red dripping from a ragged hole, its glowing lines flickering, yet its blade-arm gleamed as it sprinted ahead, 30 yards out.
The soldiers fumbled to reload—bolts clacked, hands shook—but the demons hit their ranks first. The lead Ravager leapt, its clawed hands slashing a soldier's chest, ripping through flesh and bone. Red sprayed as he screamed, collapsing in a heap. The second Ravager barreled into two more, its needle-teeth sinking into one's throat, tearing it out in a gush of red, while its claws raked the other's side, spilling guts onto the ridge. The Stalker lunged, its blade-arm slicing a soldier's arm clean off—red fountained as he fell—then pivoted, slashing another's back, vertebrae crunching as he dropped. Two more soldiers swung rifles like clubs, but the Ravager's long fingers swatted them down, skulls cracking on rock, red pooling beneath—seven dead in seconds, their screams cut short.
Voren hit the ridge like a storm, 20 yards behind the pack when they struck. His twin swords flashed as he closed the gap, boots skidding on blood-slick stone. The wounded Stalker spun, its glowing arm arcing toward him—he ducked, his left blade slashing its throat, red bursting as it gurgled and fell, glow fading. The first Ravager turned, its bleeding shoulder slowing it, jaws snapping—Voren sidestepped, his right sword plunging into its chest, piercing oily skin and sinew, red gushing as he twisted and yanked free. The beast collapsed, twitching. The second Ravager lunged, its limping leg buckling, claws swiping—Voren rolled under, both swords slashing upward, gutting it from belly to throat. Red spilled, hot and thick, as it crashed down, lifeless.
The ridge fell silent, save for the soldiers' ragged breaths and the Apex's distant roars below. Voren stood amidst the carnage, twin swords dripping red—demon and human blood mingling—his arm and side throbbing, his cloak a shredded ruin. Toris, pale but steady, gripped his rifle, red splattered across his blue uniform. Thirteen soldiers remained, some clutching wounds, others staring at the seven torn bodies—helmets dented, chests ripped, limbs askew. "Move!" Toris barked, voice hoarse, shoving the nearest man. "Legion VI—go!" The survivors stumbled off, rifles clutched, fleeing for Saint Valens as Voren turned, gray eyes burning, back toward the slope where Koryn and Elyra fought on.