The night it began, there was no warning horn, no scattered probing raid.
The devils came like a tide.
From the northern quarter, the guttural roar of thousands erupted all at once, shaking dust from the arena walls. Within heartbeats, drums pounded in rhythm — heavy, booming, bone against hide — and shadows spilled out from the broken streets. Soldiers on the wall saw it first: a black mass of bodies surging forward, claws and blades glinting beneath the moonlight, wings blotting out the stars above.
"TO ARMS!" the commander bellowed, voice hoarse. "ALL TO YOUR POSTS! THE ENEMY COMES!"
The fortress, half-repaired, shuddered as the first wave struck. Barricades splintered beneath sheer numbers, ladders crashed against the walls, and the shriek of winged fiends filled the sky. Arrows loosed from the ramparts lit up the dark like streaks of fire, cutting swathes into the enemy. Buckets of burning oil toppled down, igniting screaming hordes.
Still they came.
