The sky and the ground are filled.

Above, Tier 5's clash like gods in the storm—swords that split clouds, spells that boil the rain, shockwaves that flatten rooftops with every strike. Below, the field outside the walls churns with bodies—thousands of monsters pressing forward like an endless tide, their shrieks and war drums drowning the cries of men.

The Watervale warriors on the wall stare wide-eyed, their faces pale under the firelight.

"…By the gods…" one whispers, his bow trembling in his grip.

Another mutters hoarsely, "How are we gonna defend this."

"Shut your mouths!" a captain snarls, shoving them back into line. "You want to live? Then fight!"

The wall erupts in motion. Spells flare—lances of fire, bolts of lightning, spears of ice—raining into the first wave. Arrows darken the sky. Stones spell hurled from trebuchets smash into the monsters below, scattering blood and limbs.

But the tide doesn't stop.

A shield-brute with a body like a fortress slams into the wall of pikes. Spears crunch uselessly against its armor, snapping like twigs. With one sweep of its massive club, it sends a dozen men flying, their screams cut short as they crash against the stones.

"Bring it down!" Kore roars, vaulting from the parapet in a burst of blue light.

She meets the brute mid-swing, her spear crackling with frost. With a twist, she drives the point under its arm, where the plates don't meet. Ice explodes outward, freezing its insides solid. The creature staggers, roaring, before Kore whirls and smashes the butt of her spear into its chest, shattering it into a hundred frozen shards.

The soldiers cheer—but it's cut short as three more brutes rush forward, their weapons raised.

Overhead, two flying figures crash into the wall's edge—one human, one monster, both Tier 5. They exchange blows at blinding speed, steel against claw, sparks spraying with every strike. The shockwaves alone knock soldiers from the battlements like leaves in a gale.

"Stay back!" the tier 5 human bellows, kicking his foe into the air and launching after him. The two vanish upward in a blur, their fight continuing among the storm clouds.

But more follow.

A pack of lean, four-armed killers scrambles up the ladders, moving like spiders. Their claws tear through shields, helmets, and flesh alike. A young warrior barely has time to scream before one rips him apart.

"Hold the wall!" a veteran shouts, driving his blade through one's neck—only for another to leap on him and tear his throat out in the same breath.

The wall runs red.

The wall is chaos. Blood sprays, screams echo, the crash of spells and steel never stops. Yet Kore's eyes keep flicking back—past the carnage, past the press of monsters—to him.

Mhazul.

He hasn't lifted a hand. Not once. He only watches, the stormlight painting his pale features in silver. Even standing still, his presence presses on the battlefield like a mountain. Soldiers don't even realize they keep glancing at him, shivering as though winter crawled down their spines.

Kore knows it. Every instinct tells her that the battle raging now—the walls painted in fire and blood, the clash of Tier 5s above—is nothing more than spectacle to him. A prologue.

Her knuckles whiten on her spear. If she hesitates, if she waits until he chooses to act, there will be no city left to defend.

So she makes the choice.

With a burst of mana, she propels herself skyward, blue light trailing her form like a comet. The storm wind tears at her cloak as she rises, higher and higher until she hovers at his height.

Mhazul's head turns toward her, calm as a man turning to greet a guest. He tilts his chin slightly, eyes narrowing just the faintest fraction.

"You're the leader of this clan?" His voice rolls low and steady, yet it reverberates like a bell across the battlefield.

Kore steadies herself against the weight of it. Her voice comes sharp and clear.

"Yes. I am. I'm Kore of Watervale."

For a moment, silence stretches. Rain patters against the invisible barrier of his aura before sliding off in rivulets, unable to touch him.

Mhazul studies her—then the faintest smile curves his lips.

"You do know," he says softly, "with your level… you won't even scratch me."

Kore's chest tightens, but she doesn't flinch. "I know." She shifts her spear, the tip catching the stormlight like a shard of ice. "But don't underestimate the Watervale Clan."

Her voice hardens, slicing through the air.

"Use it now!"

The words echo like thunder across the city.

In an instant, the three mage towers flare to life. Their runes blaze, casting the skyline in blinding gold. Symbols—vast, intricate, spiral into being above each tower, humming with power.

The towers pulse once, then streams of light lance upward, converging toward Kore in a lattice of radiance. Threads of pure magic weave around her, wrapping her in a cloak of power not her own.

The sky itself trembles.

Mhazul's eyes narrow, though the faint smile never leaves his face. "Borrowed power," he says, his voice dropping colder, heavier. He doesn't move, yet the air thickens. "Good. Now it doesn't feel like I'm bullying you."

Kore lifts her spear, now blazing with the power of three towers channeled through her bindings. Her hair whips wildly in the storm, her aura swelling until even the soldiers below turn to look up in awe.

She meets his gaze, steady and unyielding. "Then watch closely—let me show you what I can do with this borrowed power."

The storm splits open with the clash of two titans.

Mhazul exhales slowly, the chains on his twin war-axes rattling like serpents hungry for blood. His chest swells, and then—

"Tier 6: Battle Fury"

The roar isn't just sound—it's a tidal wave of mana, a Warcry. The very sky shudders. Crimson fire explodes from his body, a dome of fury expanding outward.

Every monster on the field convulses, then howls as strength floods into them. Their claws sharpen, their eyes blaze red, their muscles bulge with unnatural vigor. Even the weakest gnarl at the walls like beasts unchained, while the brutes slam their weapons harder, shaking the fortifications to the core.

Kore staggers under the weight of it, her spear trembling in her hands. "He-he's buffing all of them… every single one."

Without warning, he moves. One instant he is still, the next, his war axes blur through the storm, chains snapping taut as he swings.

"Tier 5: Ashen Sundering!"

Flames surge along the twin blades as he brings them crashing down. The air itself splits, a fissure of molten fire tearing toward Kore.

Kore thrusts her spear forward. "Tier 5: Glacial Bastion!"

A wall of crystalline ice erupts before her, glowing with the power of the towers. Fire meets frost in a blinding detonation—steam exploding outward, washing the sky white.

Through the haze, Mhazul barrels in, chain-axes whirling. One hook of burning steel slams against her spear, the other comes for her side—

Kore twists, kicking off a platform of conjured ice. The blow grazes her, tearing through her shoulder guard, molten sparks hissing against her skin.

Kore's eyes flash. "Tier 5: Frozen Step!"

She vanishes into a burst of frost, reappearing an instant later above him, spear raised. The towers surge, funneling torrents of power into her weapon until it glows with blinding blue.

"Tier 6: Skyfrost Impale!"

She dives, driving her spear downward with the weight of the storm itself.

Mhazul raises both axes, chains tightening around his arms. His aura flares, fire and wrath merging into a single storm.

"Tier 6: Infernal Breaker!"

The clash is apocalyptic.

Spear meets axe in a shockwave that splits clouds for miles. Fire and frost explode outward, raining shards of ice and embers over the battlefield. Soldiers below are thrown from their feet, monsters crushed by falling debris, towers shaking under the force.

For a heartbeat, they lock there—Kore pressing down with borrowed might, Mhazul holding with brute strength and fury. The air between them screams, fracturing from the strain.

Kore grits her teeth, sweat freezing on her brow. "I'll show you… that Watervale doesn't bow!" she growls.

Mhazul laughs, a booming, terrible sound. "Good! Show me your defiance—so I can burn it to ash!"

On the northern wall, another duel has already pushed past the limits of human endurance.

A Tier 6 of Watervale, called Renlor, strikes again and again at the commander of Mhazul's unit, a monster of jagged stone and sinew whose four burning eyes never blink. Renlor's halberd crackles with layered runes, his every swing carving furrows of power into the ground.

"Fall, damn you!" Renlor bellows, driving his weapon down.

The commander blocks with one plated arm, the impact splitting the earth like an earthquake. Dust and sparks explode outward.

"You struggle," the monster's voice rumbles, deep as a cave. "But struggle only feeds the grave."

Renlor spits blood, his teeth bared. "Graves are for monsters like you!"

He kicks forward, halberd whirling in a storm of arcs—cutting, thrusting, slamming with brutal precision. Each strike leaves glowing scars across the commander's body. Soldiers nearby cheer, hope flickering in their eyes.

Then hope dies.

The commander plants both hands into the earth. "Tier 6: Abyssal Maw."

The ground beneath Renlor heaves—then opens. A jagged chasm splits the battlefield, lined with snapping jaws of molten stone. Heat sears the air.

Renlor leaps, halberd spinning. "Tier 6: Waterbreaker Cleave!"

He drops like a waterfall, smashing straight into the commander's chest. The monster stumbles—cracks shatter its plated hide. For a heartbeat, it looks as if victory is within reach.

But the commander does not fall. Its four eyes blaze with hellfire. "Not enough."

Its clawed hand shoots forward—piercing straight through Renlor's chest.

The halberd slips from numb fingers.

"Sir Renlor!" a soldier screams, voice full of desperate hope.

Renlor gasps, blood spilling from his lips. His eyes dart to the walls, to his men, to the city he swore to protect. His voice is weak, but carries.

"Don't… falter. Watervale… stands—"