The ridge lay steeped in blood and silence, the air heavy with the iron tang of death. Voren stood amidst the fallen—seven soldiers torn apart, their bodies strewn across the rocky ground, red pooling beneath shredded flesh and cracked helmets. The two Ravagers and one Stalker he'd slain lay crumpled nearby, their oily hides and glowing blade-arms still, red blood seeping from gashed throats and pierced chests. His twin swords dripped crimson, his white cloak a tattered ruin, his arm and side throbbing with each breath—but his gray eyes burned, flicking downslope where Koryn and Elyra battled the Apex predators. No hesitation seized him; he turned and ran, boots pounding the dirt, descending back into the ravine's chaos at full speed.
Below, the fight raged under the starlit sky. Koryn's broad frame swayed, his single sword clashing with the left Apex's massive claw, red blood dripping from a deep cut he'd carved across its stone-plated shoulder. His own shoulder bled freely, a fresh gash across his chest staining his torn cloak, his leg bruised and slowing him. Elyra danced against the right Apex, her twin blades slashing its digitigrade leg—red oozed—but her thigh trembled with each step, blood soaking her side from a claw's rake.
Voren hit the slope like a gale, 30 yards out, his swords raised as he charged the left Apex from its flank. The beast sensed him, pivoting with a guttural growl, its smaller arms twitching toward him. He leapt, twisting mid-air, his right sword slashing downward in a spiraling arc—metal met flesh, carving a red line across its upper arm, blood spraying as he landed in a roll. The Apex roared, its massive claw swinging wide—Voren ducked low, his left sword thrusting up under its ribcage, piercing raw tissue between plating. Red gushed, hot and slick, as he yanked free, darting back before its tail could coil.
Koryn seized the opening, lunging forward with a heavy overhead chop—his single sword crashed into the left Apex's shoulder, cracking the stone-like hide, red blood spurting as the beast staggered. But its smaller arms lashed out, one claw raking Koryn's forearm, tearing muscle and drawing a sharp grunt—red welled, dripping down his hand, his grip faltering. Elyra pivoted from the right Apex, her twin blades spinning in a scissor strike—both slashed its smaller arms, severing one entirely, red spraying as it flopped to the dirt. The beast snarled, its massive claw swiping down—she sidestepped, but the edge caught her shoulder, gashing deep, blood soaking her silver top as she stumbled back with a hiss.
The Apex recoiled, their roars shaking the ravine, red blood pooling beneath them as they paused, circling the Velta like predators sizing prey. Koryn stepped back, his chest heaving, sword trembling in his bloodied hand, his white hair matted with sweat and crimson. Voren flanked left, twin swords poised, his gray eyes locked on the left Apex, arm and side pulsing with pain. Elyra mirrored him on the right, her green eyes fierce despite her limp, blood trickling down her arm, twin blades steady. The beasts prowled—tails lashing, claws flexing—20 feet apart, their sunken eyes blind but senses alight, circling tighter.
A tense lull settled, the night's clamor fading to their ragged breaths and the Apex's low growls. Koryn's voice broke the stillness, a gravelly whisper, his gaze never leaving the left Apex. "They're bleeding bad—we can end this." His arm hung heavy, red dripping from his torn forearm, but his stance held firm.
Voren nodded, circling left, his boots crunching dirt, swords angled low. "Flank 'em—split their focus. I'll take the left's tail, you hit its chest." His voice was taut, blood streaking his face from a shallow cut above his brow, his focus unshaken.
Elyra adjusted her grip, her wounded shoulder screaming, her green eyes flicking to the right Apex. "Right one's weaker now—lost an arm. I'll go low, cripple its legs." Her words were sharp, blood dripping from her thigh, but her resolve burned bright.
The Apex tightened their circle—15 feet now—tails cracking air, claws scraping rock. Then they lunged. The left Apex charged Koryn, its massive claw arcing high—he dropped low, rolling beneath, his single sword slashing upward in a diagonal sweep, slicing its belly open—red guts spilled, steaming in the chill, but its tail whipped down, slamming his back. Koryn crashed forward, a grunt escaping as ribs cracked, blood seeping through his cloak, his sword skidding from his grip.
Voren darted in, twin swords whirling—he leapt onto the left Apex's back, boots digging into its spinal plating, right sword slashing down in a brutal chop. The four-pronged tail severed at the base, red blood fountaining as it thudded to the dirt, writhing like a dying snake. The beast shrieked, bucking wildly—Voren clung on, left sword stabbing its neck, red gushing, but its smaller arms flailed, one claw gashing his thigh deep, blood pouring as he roared in pain.
Elyra faced the right Apex, ducking its claw as it charged—she slid beneath, twin blades slashing in a cross-cut at its legs, tendons snapping, red flooding the ground. It stumbled, snarling, but its remaining smaller arm grabbed her cloak, yanking her up—she twisted free, leaving fabric behind, landing hard on her wounded side with a gasp. The Apex loomed over her, one-armed but raging, as Koryn lay sprawled, blood pooling beneath him, his breaths shallow, sword inches from his trembling hand. The left Apex thrashed, tailless and bleeding, Voren clinging to its back, his thigh wound soaking his leg red. The right Apex towered over Elyra, its crippled leg buckling but claws raised. The ravine echoed with their roars, the Velta's blood mingling with the demons'—a fight paused on a razor's edge, Koryn heavily injured, the severed tail twitching in the dirt beside him.
The ravine's slope lay steeped in carnage, the air thick with the coppery reek of blood under the starlit sky. The severed tail of the left Apex twitched in the dirt, red blood pooling around it, its tailless frame hunched and shuddering from Voren's brutal strike. Red oozed from gashes across its chest and neck, its stone-plated hide cracked, smaller arms twitching feebly. The right Apex loomed nearby, its digitigrade leg crippled from Elyra's cuts, one smaller arm severed, red dripping from the stump, but its massive claw and remaining arm flexed with undimmed menace. Both beasts circled again, their guttural growls rumbling low, crocodile-like skulls swiveling as their sunken eyes fixed on the Veltas. They smelled weakness, their circling tightening around Koryn's faltering form.
Koryn lay sprawled where the left Apex's tail had slammed him, his sword inches from his bloodied hand. His white cloak was a shredded ruin, soaked red from a deep gash across his chest, his shoulder torn, his forearm slashed—ribs cracked beneath, each breath a wet rasp. Blood poured from his nose, trickling from his mouth, staining his gray beard crimson as he pushed himself up. His broad frame trembled, legs unsteady, but his gray eyes blazed with a stubborn fire. Voren stood 10 feet left, twin swords dripping red, his thigh wound bleeding freely, his arm and side aching, gray eyes locked on the left Apex. Elyra flanked right, her twin blades steady despite her gashed shoulder and torn side, green eyes fierce as blood streaked her leg. The Apex prowled—15 feet apart—their claws scraping rock, tails (one gone, one lashing) cracking air, sensing Koryn's collapse.
A brief lull hung, the night's chaos pausing in their ragged breaths. Koryn gripped his sword, hauling himself to his feet with a guttural grunt, blood dripping from his lips as he swayed. His deep voice rasped, thick with pain but firm: "Ok—I'm going to face the one on the right. You both dash as fast as you can to the left one and kill it. I'll distract the right one—keep it off you." His scarred face tightened, blood bubbling at his mouth, but his gaze held steady, meeting Voren's and Elyra's.
They understood instantly—no words needed. The left Apex was bleeding out, weakened—two Velta could finish it fast. The right one, crippled but fierce, would charge them unless distracted. Koryn, even broken, was the wall they needed. Voren nodded sharply, his gray eyes flashing resolve, twin swords shifting in his grip. Elyra's green eyes met Koryn's, a flicker of pain crossing her face—knowing the cost—but she nodded too, her bloodied blades angling toward the left Apex. It was the best plan, the only plan.
The Apex lunged, and the Velta moved. Koryn roared—a raw, defiant sound—staggering toward the right Apex, his single sword raised in a trembling arc. The beast charged him, its crippled leg dragging but massive claw swinging high. He sidestepped, slower than before, his sword slashing across its chest—red sprayed, cracking more plating—but its remaining smaller arm grabbed his cloak, yanking him off-balance. He twisted free, fabric tearing, and thrust upward, piercing its ribs, red blood gushing as he stumbled back, panting wetly.
Voren and Elyra sprinted left, boots pounding dirt, their wounds screaming but ignored. The left Apex snarled, turning to meet them, its tailless bulk lurching—smaller arms flailing, massive claw swiping. Voren ducked low, sliding under the strike, his twin swords slashing in a rising X—blades carved through its underbelly, red guts spilling as he rolled clear. Elyra leapt, her twin blades spinning in a double downward thrust—she drove them into its neck, piercing between plating, red fountaining as she twisted and yanked free. The beast shrieked, staggering, its claw raking Voren's back—shallow but bloody—as he sprang up. Together, they struck again—Voren's swords slashing its legs, Elyra's slicing its throat—red poured, a torrent, and the Apex collapsed, its twelve-foot frame crashing to the dirt, lifeless, blood pooling wide.
Koryn's fight faltered. The right Apex loomed over him, its claw smashing down—he parried, sword trembling, but his cracked ribs gave, a wet gasp escaping as he buckled. Its remaining arm clawed his side, tearing deep—red gushed, soaking his tunic—and its massive claw swung again, slamming his chest. He flew back, hitting the ground hard, sword skidding away, blood spraying from his mouth as he lay still, breaths shallow, eyes half-open. The Apex advanced, snarling, its crippled leg dragging, ready to finish him.
Voren and Elyra spun, seeing Koryn down—red everywhere, his form broken—and charged the right Apex without pause. Voren leapt high, twin swords arcing in a spiraling descent—blades sank into its shoulder, cracking plating, red spurting as he hung on, twisting. Elyra slid low, her twin blades slashing its crippled leg in a scissor cut—tendons snapped, red flooding as it roared and buckled. Voren dropped, rolling free, and struck again—both swords plunged into its chest, piercing deep, red gushing as he yanked them out. Elyra darted up, her blades slashing its maw—one cracked tooth fell, red dripping—as she flipped back. The Apex thrashed, its smaller arm swiping Voren's arm anew—blood welled—but Voren thrust once more, twin swords driving into its neck, red spraying as Elyra's blades joined, slicing its throat clean through. The beast shuddered, a final growl fading, and collapsed, its twelve-foot bulk slamming the dirt, dead.
The ravine fell silent, save for their ragged gasps and the drip of blood—red from Apex and Velta alike. Voren and Elyra staggered, swords lowering, their wounds pulsing—Voren's thigh, arm, and back; Elyra's shoulder, side, and leg—all dripping red. They turned, eyes wide, to Koryn. He lay crumpled, chest caved from the Apex's blow, side torn open, blood pooling beneath him, nose and mouth crimson, breaths faint and wet. His white hair matted with gore, his scarred hand twitched once, then stilled. Voren dropped to his knees beside him, tearing a strip from his cloak to press against Koryn's chest—red soaked through instantly. Elyra knelt too, her bloodied hands shaking as she checked his pulse, green eyes tight with fear. "Hold on, damn it," Voren growled, voice raw, as they fought to staunch the flow, the night pressing in around their fallen leader.
The ravine stretched quiet and blood-soaked beneath a sky bruised with fading stars, the aftermath of slaughter etched into the dirt. The two Apex predators lay sprawled, their twelve-foot bulks motionless, red blood congealing around slashed throats and ruptured plating, their once-menacing claws limp. Voren knelt at Koryn's side, his twin swords cast aside, hands pressing a ragged scrap of his white cloak against the senior Velta's torn chest—red seeped through, relentless, staining his fingers. Elyra crouched across from him, her twin blades discarded, her blood-smeared hands clutching Koryn's wrist, tracing the weakening thud of his pulse. Koryn sprawled broken, chest crumpled from the Apex's strike, side ripped open, blood spilling from his nose and mouth, matting his gray beard. His white hair stuck to his brow, soaked with sweat and crimson, his breaths shallow gurgles fading fast.
The night loomed cold, wind hissing through thornbushes, carrying the stench of death. Koryn's gray eyes fluttered, dim but piercing, finding Voren and Elyra through the haze. His voice scraped out, rough as gravel, thick with blood but unyielding. "Both down… huh," he muttered, a faint curl to his lip, red bubbling at the edge. "Did the clan proud… better'n I expected."
Voren's gray eyes narrowed, his face a hard mask streaked with blood—his own from a cut brow, his thigh and arm still bleeding—as he pushed down on the wound, though it wouldn't clot. "Shut it, Koryn," he said, voice low and clipped, forcing the tremor out. Veltharions didn't linger on loss—it was their way, forged in steel—but Koryn's shadow had loomed over him since boyhood, a gruff anchor now slipping. "You'll make it. Legion's close."
Elyra's green eyes met Koryn's, her grip steady on his wrist despite the ache in her gashed shoulder and torn side, blood trickling down her leg. "He's right," she cut in, sharp and terse, shoving down the knot in her throat. "You've survived uglier scraps. Gavren'll mock you for this stumble—don't give him the satisfaction." Her tone was dry, a Veltharion's shield against softness, but her gaze held a flicker, tracing the scar she'd once bantered over in training.
Koryn wheezed, a choked laugh turning to a cough, red spraying his chin as his frame shook. "Gavren… bastard'll owe me a jug," he rasped, eyes glazing briefly before snapping back. "You two—keep sharp. Voren, quit… second-guessing. Elyra, stop… overplanning—act." His scarred hand twitched toward his sword, a reflex dying mid-motion, falling limp in the dirt, red pooling beneath.
Voren's jaw locked, blood dripping from his brow, his wounded thigh throbbing as he pressed harder—uselessly, he knew. "You're not out yet," he growled, words taut, burying the sting of losing the man who'd beaten sense into him. Elyra's lips thinned, her green eyes hard as she leaned in, blood crusting her cropped hair. "We've got it," she said, curt, voice a blade. No tears—Veltharions didn't break—but her fingers lingered on his wrist, feeling the pulse fade.
Koryn's breath rattled, a wet shudder, his eyes clouding. "Then… I'm done," he murmured, blood trickling as his head tilted back. "Tell… Lysara I went hard. She'll… owe me too." His chest heaved once, a faint gurgle, then fell still, gray eyes staring blankly at the sky, the fight gone from them. Voren's hands stilled, the soaked cloth dripping red, his gaze fixed on Koryn's slack face—a warrior spent. Elyra let his wrist drop, her hand hovering before falling, green eyes narrowing as she swallowed the ache she wouldn't voice. The silence pressed in, a heavy shroud, but Veltharions didn't bend to sorrow—it was weakness they'd long purged. Still, the air held a quiet weight, a loss they'd carry in scars, not words.
Voren rose, stiff and bloodied, retrieving his twin swords with a scrape of steel on rock. Elyra stood too, her wounded shoulder protesting as she grabbed her blades, a soft clink marking the motion. They faced Koryn's body—red-soaked, unbowed even in death—and performed the clan's ancient rite. Voren brought his right fist to his chest, knuckles tight against his torn silver top, then thrust it forward, palm down—a salute of steel, unyielding. Elyra followed, her right fist to her chest, then extended, blood-streaked hand steady, a mirror of the gesture. Two moves, stark and precise, a bow rooted in centuries of Veltharion blood, honoring a blade returned to the forge.
Elyra pulled a strip from her tattered white cloak, laying it over Koryn's face—red bled through, but it hid his empty stare. Voren sank to the ground beside him, leaning against a jagged stone, twin swords across his knees, blood crusting his thigh and arm. Elyra settled nearby, legs folded, blades at her side, her shoulder slumped as red dripped from her wounds. They sat vigil, silent, the Apex corpses looming behind—sentinels over their fallen—waiting through the night's slow fade.
The horizon bled orange as dawn broke, a fiery line creeping over the ravine's edge. The ground rumbled—boots, a legion's tread—signaling six hundred soldiers of Legion VI marching in beige ranks, rifles catching the first light. At their head strode Velta Commander Taryn, Lysara's second, his white cloak longer than most, silver top glinting beneath, his single broadsword sheathed at his hip. Six Velta flanked him, white cloaks swaying, their silver tops marked by scars of rank, twin swords or single blades at their sides. Taryn's sharp blue eyes swept the scene—two Apex sprawled in red pools, seven soldiers shredded on the ridge, and Voren and Elyra sitting blood-crusted beside Koryn's body, cloaked in Elyra's torn fabric.
The legion halted, ranks parting as Taryn stepped forward, his weathered face tightening—jaw set, brow furrowed—as he took in Koryn's still form. Voren and Elyra rose, slow and pained, their wounds stark—Voren's thigh and arm oozing, Elyra's shoulder and side raw—twin swords gripped, cloaks hanging in bloody threads. Taryn's gaze lingered on Koryn, a flicker of something crossing his eyes—respect, not grief—before shifting to the survivors, the dawn casting their shadows long over the fallen.
The dawn's orange glow bled into a pale gold as Legion VI fanned out across the ravine, their 495 beige-clad soldiers moving with practiced precision beneath the weight of the morning's chill. The air hung thick with the tang of blood and the faint rot of the Apex corpses, their twelve-foot hulks sprawled in congealing red pools, claws curled inward like broken scythes. Voren and Elyra stood near Koryn's body, their white cloaks shredded and blood-crusted, twin swords gripped loosely in hands stained red. Voren's thigh oozed through a torn silver top, his arm gashed, brow cut—his gray eyes hard but weary. Elyra's shoulder slumped, a deep slash weeping red, her side and leg streaked with drying blood, green eyes sharp despite the pain. Taryn, Lysara's second, strode forward, his longer white cloak swaying, silver top glinting under the rising sun, his broadsword sheathed at his hip. Six Velta trailed him, their white cloaks marked by scars of rank, twin swords or single blades at their sides, faces set like stone.
Taryn's sharp blue eyes swept the scene—two Apex dead, seven soldiers torn apart on the ridge, Koryn cloaked in Elyra's torn fabric, his blood seeping through. "Secure the wounded," he barked, voice gruff but steady, his weathered face tightening as he glanced at Koryn. "Prep the fallen—move fast." The legion snapped to action, beige ranks splitting into squads, boots crunching on rocky dirt. Four soldiers approached Voren and Elyra, their beige uniforms patched with dust, full-face helmets glinting as they carried leather satchels slung over shoulders—field medics, rifles swapped for bandages and steel vials.
A medic knelt by Voren, his gloved hands deft as he cut away the shredded silver fabric around his thigh, revealing a jagged gash, red and raw, muscle twitching beneath. "Hold still," the medic muttered, voice muffled behind his helmet, pouring a clear liquid from a vial—antiseptic, sharp-scented, stinging as it hit the wound. Voren grunted, jaw clenching, but didn't flinch, his gray eyes fixed on the Apex corpses. The medic packed the gash with a gray paste—clotting salve, gritty and cold—then wrapped it tight with linen strips, blood seeping through briefly before slowing. Another medic tackled his arm, peeling back the cloak's tatters, cleaning the slash with a damp cloth, red swirling in the water, then binding it with a leather strap, tight enough to make Voren's knuckles whiten.
Elyra sat on a rock as her medic worked, her green eyes tracking the legion. The soldier sliced her silver top at the shoulder, exposing a deep claw mark, red and inflamed, bone visible beneath torn flesh. She hissed as he doused it with the same antiseptic, the sting cutting through her haze, then smeared a thick yellow ointment—numbing, herbal, its scent sharp against the blood. He stitched it with a curved needle and black thread, each pull tugging her skin, red beads welling before he knotted it off. Her side got a quick wrap—linen over salve, blood crusting the edges—while her leg, a shallower cut, took a slap of paste and a bandage, her boot scuffed red where it had bled through.
Across the ravine, a squad of ten handled the dead. Koryn's body lay still, Elyra's cloak strip soaked red over his face. Two soldiers lifted him gently, their beige gloves slick with his blood, laying him on a canvas stretcher—gray, stained, edges frayed from use. A third approached with a body bag, black and heavy, unfolding it beside him. They slid him in, his broad frame settling with a soft thud, blood smearing the fabric. Voren stepped forward, his bandaged leg stiff, and unhooked his own tattered cloak—red-streaked, torn—and draped it over the bag, tying it with a leather cord from his belt, the white cloth stark against the black. Elyra joined him, her twin swords in hand, placing Koryn's single sword—silver-black, crimson-veined—across the cloak, securing it with a knot. The Veltharion mark—cloak and weapon—signaled his rank, his death a clan loss, visible to all.
The seven soldiers on the ridge got simpler treatment. Their bodies—chests ripped, throats torn, limbs askew—lay scattered, helmets dented, beige uniforms shredded. Soldiers worked in pairs, dragging them to stretchers, blood trailing in the dirt, red smears on rocks where they'd fallen. No cloaks or blades tied here—just black bags zipped shut, their beige anonymity a contrast to Koryn's white-draped form. The squad stacked them on a wooden cart, its wheels creaking under the weight, pulled by two legion mules, their breath fogging in the dawn air.
Taryn oversaw it all, his blue eyes flicking between tasks, his longer cloak catching the wind. "Load up," he ordered, voice cutting through the rustle of canvas and clink of gear. The medics finished, stepping back as Voren and Elyra stood, wounds bound but faces grim—red still crusted their hands, their silver tops patched with blood. Koryn's stretcher went onto a second cart, the six Velta lifting it with steady hands, their white cloaks swaying as they secured it beside the soldiers' bags. The legion formed up—495 strong, rifles slung, beige ranks tight—mules hitched, carts rolling as Taryn took the lead, his broadsword's hilt glinting.
The march back to the capital stretched hours, the sun climbing high, baking the blood into the carts' wood. Dust kicked up under boots, a beige cloud trailing the legion as they crossed plains and forded shallow streams, water swirling red where it touched the carts. Voren and Elyra walked near Koryn's cart, their bandaged limbs stiff, twin swords sheathed but hands resting on hilts—gray and green eyes forward, no words between them. The six Velta flanked the carts, their silver tops dulled by dust, faces unreadable beneath cropped hair and scars.
The capital's gates loomed by midday—tall, iron-bound, flanked by stone towers, their black banners snapping in the breeze. The legion entered, boots echoing on cobblestones as they hit the main road—a wide, straight artery of gray stone cutting through the city, lined with squat buildings of brick and timber. Citizens paused—smiths at forges, vendors at stalls, children in alleys—eyes tracking the march. Four hundred ninety-five beige soldiers, rifles glinting, mules plodding, carts creaking under black bags. Koryn's stood out—white cloak tied, his sword's crimson veins catching the sun, a Veltharion fallen. Whispers rippled—sharp, hushed—faces peering from windows, hands stilling on tools, the city's pulse slowing as the clan's loss rolled past. The road stretched a mile, climbing gently toward the clan's headquarters—a fortress of dark stone, its walls scarred from old sieges, twin towers framing a steel gate. The legion halted there, boots scuffing to a stop, Taryn raising a fist. Voren and Elyra stood by Koryn's cart, bloodied and bandaged, their twin swords dull with dust, gray and green eyes fixed ahead as the city watched in complete silent…just staring as the Legion marched.