The first line of the Dreamer Army was slowly buckling under the crushing pressure of the nightmare horde.
They stood, shoulder to shoulder, steel and soul pressed together in a last stand against the monstrous tide. Claws slashed, teeth tore, and corrupted flesh boiled with malice. All around them, screams of pain and defiance mingled into a chorus of carnage. Every heartbeat felt like a coin flip against death.
Bodies were strewn across the battlefield, torn into bloody chunks, armor ripped open, weapons shattered. The red mist of vaporized blood hung thick in the air, stinging their eyes, choking their lungs. Many of those who had once stood in the line were now nothing more than smears under the talons of the nightmare creatures. And yet, the first line held.
With the fearsome presence of commanders like giant Tessai, Gunlaug in gold, the silent Librarian, the unshakable Effie, and the cunning Caster, the Sleepers of the front did not break. Their blood-soaked blades carved paths through the horde, even as their comrades fell beside them. For each one who died, three monsters were dragged down with them.
Tessai swung his mace like a man possessed, shattering limbs, cracking skulls, and leaving trails of broken bone and chitin in his wake. His eyes burned with the light of raw defiance. On the flank, Gunlaug fought like a berserker, his golden echo turning him into a whirlwind of destruction, a golden devil raging in the sea of nightmares.
Effie moved with unrelenting purpose, her bronze spear a blur of motion. She anchored a wedge formation around her, her shield raised high as she led the desperate in charge after charge. Caster darted among the wreckage of battle like a phantom, his dual blades dancing. He severed tendons, slit throats, and left no opportunity unpunished. The Librarian, silent and inscrutable, used a halberd longer than most men were tall to carve wide, sweeping arcs through the tide of death.
Each of them was a beacon. Each of them gathered Sleepers around them and turned chaos into cohesion.
They knew the plan. The first line was never meant to win. They were there to slow the horde, to break the momentum of the nightmare creatures, and give time for the rest of the Dreamer Army to prepare for the next phase. That they were still holding was a testament to the strength and sacrifice of these few hundred brave souls.
Behind them, Konrad led the counter charge line, made up of the shock companies. He had been waiting for the signal.
And in the distance, the third line never ceased. Though the amount of fire power lessened as they were dealing with their own troubles.
Archers on elevated platforms and siege engineers behind hastily constructed bulwarks kept up a continuous barrage. The giant ballistae fired spear-sized projectiles into the heart of the swarm, each one exploding on impact with the alchemical charge of soul-infused grenades. Arrows rained down like a steel storm, finding gaps in armor, eyes, mouths.
Others with elemental abilities created hailstorms of fire and ice. Blades of wind carved gashes into monster flesh. Poison and rot seeped into the wounds, slowing, weakening, killing.
The synergy of the Dreamer Army was grim and beautiful. A symphony of war, orchestrated by desperation and iron resolve. And yet, despite it all, the horde kept coming.
There seemed to be no end to the nightmare creatures. Some crawled on all fours, some slithered, some flew above, swooping down to drag away screaming Sleepers. Their numbers were staggering, their hunger endless.
And still, the line held.
The Dreamer Army would not break. Not yet. Not here. This was their stand. The base of the Crimson Spire was within reach, the future of all who called the Forgotten Shore home balanced on a razor's edge.
The battle rages at the base of the Crimson Spire, and the Dreamer Army's sacrifice is already staining the Forgotten Shore red.
***
The moment had come.
A thunderous horn blared through the battlefield, its deep and grim tone cutting through the cacophony of roars and screams. All across the front, Sleepers felt a tremor in the ground… but it wasn't a Nightmare Creature this time.
It was the Night Lord's vanguard.
From behind the defensive lines, a squad of monstrous echoes charged into view. They took the shape of terrifying beasts—each one a devilish fusion of nightmare and myth. But none were as fearsome as the one at the center, spearheading the wedge formation.
Diablo.
A Fallen Devil. A quadrupedal monstrosity of black steel and muscle, with smoldering red eyes and a horn like jagged blades of crystal. Black smoke rose from its body, trailing behind like a funeral shroud as it galloped forward. And on its back rode Konrad, the Night Lord himself, clad in his midnight armor, his red cape flaring in the wind, a fearsome spear in his hand. Sunny, the divine shadow and Sevatar, the instinct monster rode the devil alongside the Night Lord.
Behind him, the shock companies of the Night Lord Legion surged into the gap—second, fourth, and seventh—each formation expertly drilled and perfectly timed. They had waited for this moment, for the enemy to overextend and the front line to teeter. Now, they would strike.
The wedge formation was perfect. At the very tip, Diablo tore into the ranks of the abominations, its claws rending through flesh and armor like wet paper. Konrad stood atop the saddle without holding on, balancing effortlessly despite the beast's speed. His spear cut arcs of red light through the air, every strike taking down a Nightmare Creature, some even larger than horses.
The second company followed on his left. Gemma was at the front, his face smeared with blood, his eyes blazing. His Aspect pulsed with vitality, healing his body even as wounds were carved into it. A mantis-like creature leapt at his from the side, its scythe arms aiming for his throat. He caught the first blow with his blade, took the second to the ribs… and didn't even flinch. He spun, cleaving the creature in half, and kept moving.
On the right, Harus led the seventh company—the most feared company in the entire legion. Dressed in armor the color of night, with white skeletal insignias painted over their masks, the enforcers of the Night Lord charged like reapers. Harus himself moved with ghostlike precision. His Aspect cloaked the battlefield around him, striping all enemies of their sight. The monsters screeched, stumbling in confusion, clawing at shadows—while the soldiers of the seventh company moved like phantoms in that darkness, cutting down one beast after another.
Harus caught a towering simian creature by the throat, his claws glowing. He pulled back and slashed its throat with surgical precision before fading into the mist again.
The counter-charge had a terrifying rhythm—strike, vanish, strike again.
The fourth company had temporarily broken down and joined the seventh company.
The wedge drove deep, cutting through the numbers of the horde. For the first time since the start of the siege, the abominations were pushed back. The crushing pressure on the front line eased as more Sleepers rallied and joined the assault.
From his perch atop Diablo, Konrad saw the tide shifting.
He raised his bloodied spear high, its red blade glinting crimson from the light of the Spire.
"Halt! Retreat! Regroup! Reform!"
Konrad leapt from Diablo, his spear cleaving the earth as he landed, cracking the skull of a Fallen Beast. His Clairvoyance pulsed in his mind—split-second flashes of enemy movement flickered before his eyes. He dodged left, parried a blindside strike, twisted, and ran his sword through a multi-eyed worm. Then he surged forward, leapt over a mass of writhing limbs, and brought down Nightfall in a devastating overhead strike that shattered a grotesque centipede beast in half. Sunny and Sevatar quickly followed behind him. Killing anything stopping their path.
All around him, the Night Lord Legion unleashed hell.
Gemma was a whirlwind of gore and fury. His wounds healed as fast as they came. He fought like someone possessed. He waded through monsters, dragging her warriors with her like a living banner.
Harus moved from shadow to shadow, carving a path with clinical precision. The seventh and fourth company followed, each soldier perfectly in sync, delivering death without mercy.
And Diablo killed every thing around it. The mount's jaws crunched through bone, its claws shattered stone.
The shock companies reconnected with the remnants of the first line. Together, they formed a living wedge, now reinforced and reignited with fury. Their charge stabilized the front—and more than that, it shattered the momentum of the horde.
What had once been an unstoppable tide now turned into chaos.
The creatures broke formation. Their cohesion failed. Some turned on each other, maddened by the smell of blood and fear. Others hesitated for the first time, sensing that something had changed… that the prey they once thought helpless had found its fangs.
And the humans, drenched in blood, teeth bared, howled their defiance at the dark.
Deep in the horde,Sevatar appeared next to Konrad, covered in gore but smiling faintly. Sunless following close by.
"This is our chance. Three of us will break through."
Konrad swung his spear once more. He ignored the voice of the spell announcing the death of the nightmare creatures and surged forward.