The first warning never came from alarms.
It came from the sky bending inward.
Above the city's central district, clouds folded like torn fabric, revealing a widening scar of black-violet distortion. Streetlights flickered. Vehicles stalled mid-motion. Then the Eclipse descended.
They did not fall—they phased, slipping into reality like stains spreading through water.
Lys felt it instantly. The Shin Dragon surged, seals tightening around his arms and spine as his dragon eyes ignited, rings of silver-gold rotating within his pupils. He stood atop a fractured overpass as the first Eclipse entities struck the streets below, tearing through steel and flesh with equal ease.
"Contact confirmed," one of his people shouted through comms. "Multiple vectors. They're targeting population density."
"Then we intercept," Lys replied, already moving.
He leapt.
The air compressed beneath his feet as he crossed entire blocks in a single bound, landing between a collapsing tower and a cluster of civilians. With a sharp gesture, he bent gravity sideways, diverting falling debris into an empty avenue. Eclipse forms rushed him—humanoid silhouettes of void and fractured light.
Lys struck first.
Aether detonated from his palm, ripping three entities apart. They screamed—not in sound, but in pressure, reality flinching as they died.
The city had become a battlefield.
The fight spread like wildfire.
Eclipse units adapted rapidly, splitting into smaller forms, flanking from impossible angles. Lys fought in constant motion, weaving through attacks that erased concrete on contact. He twisted space to redirect void lances into Eclipse ranks, crushed others by collapsing localized gravity wells.
His allies moved with practiced coordination—barriers flaring, precision strikes landing—but even they struggled. The Eclipse were learning.
One latched onto Lys's shadow.
It whispered futures—cities burning, allies dead, the Shin Dragon devouring him from within.
Lys clenched his jaw and tore it free, slamming it into the ground with enough force to crater the street.
"Get out of my head," he growled.
Neon signs exploded overhead as another wave hit. Lys barely noticed the blood running down his arm—his focus narrowed to movement, timing, survival. Every second mattered.
Above them, the breach widened.
Exhaustion crept in like poison.
The seals along Lys's body burned hotter, warning him. He was using too much power, too fast. The Shin Dragon strained against its restraints, eager to surface fully.
An Eclipse brute emerged—massive, layered in overlapping void-plates. It slammed Lys through a tower façade, glass and steel raining down as alarms screamed.
Lys rose from the rubble, coughing, vision blurring.
Around him, his people were faltering. One lay unmoving. Another barely held a barrier together, hands shaking.
Failure loomed.