The battlefield at the palace gates trembled beneath a crimson sky, thick with smoke, screams, and the clash of mana. The devils had begun to adapt—each wave more organized, their formation tighter, their auras synchronized like the rhythm of a dark symphony. Kaelion's soldiers, once holding strong lines, were now being slowly driven back, their morale fraying under the relentless surge of corruption.
"Hold the formation! Do not let the front collapse!" Kaelion's voice cut through the chaos. His command was sharp, but even he could feel it—the shift. Something in the air had changed. The devils were no longer attacking recklessly; they were waiting for something.
And then, it appeared.
