The sun crested over the eastern ridgeline, bathing the temple fortress in a warm gold that made the wards shimmer faintly across the stone ramparts. Wind curled around the mountains, carrying the scent of pine and thin mist from the valley lake below. From within the temple, it might have felt almost serene.
Wizards moved with measured ease across the tiers of the base camp checking runes, rotating guard posts, tending to magical creatures resting in reinforced pens. There was a quiet rhythm to it all: cautious but not strained. No alarm had been raised in over two days. Patrols had reported nothing. No unusual sky disturbances. No veil shimmer. No divine echoes.
Atop the southern balcony, a pair of Japanese ward-crafters sat on the edge of the parapet sipping tea, one of them joking softly in Hindi about how even ghosts feared the altitude.
It felt distantly like the calm before something.
And it was.
Because just over the far ridgeline, hidden beneath layers of enchanted shadow and ancient mountain spirits forced into submission, a different force watched with inhuman stillness.
A formation of angels and demons, positioned with deadly precision, lurked behind jagged stone and snow-choked gullies.
They did not speak.
The angels stood like living statues wings bound in faint golden bindings, spears of compressed light humming in their hands. Their silver eyes glinted through helms of polished etherium. The demons leaner, clad in dark crimson skin with veins of coal-black fire moved with more twitch than breath. Clawed hands clenched over embers twisted into blades and coals forming in their palms.
It was not a siege army.
It was a calculated test.
The lead angel a towering figure with a broken halo floating above his helm lowered his head.
He did not speak aloud.
But the order passed instantly.
Now.
Without a roar. Without a warning. Without a war cry.
The mountains themselves seemed to inhale.
And then the sky split open with a scream of light.
From the ridge above, a barrage of spears formed of blinding, condensed light magic tore downward in a sharp-angled volley, striking the outer defensive wards like thunderbolts wrapped in razors. Behind them came streaking comets of flame, not thrown but hurled, trailing black fire that hissed across the air like serpents burning through mist.
The first impact hit the outer ring a thundering crash that lit up the entire perimeter in radiant shock.
Kazuki, walking along the temple's western garden, snapped his head up as the defensive enchantments flared violently red, and the air around the fortress rippled with warning glyphs.
Alarms blared sharp, ancient bells forged in the dragon-fires of Bhutan, ringing in perfect sync across the battlements.
A team of guards on the eastern wall barely raised their wands before a second volley struck this time, not aimed for destruction, but testing for weak points.
A magical shield snapped under the pressure shattering into refracted glyphs that scattered like dying fireflies.
"Contact!" someone screamed. "South ridge! Incoming fire directed it was a concentrated volley!"
Morpheus was already moving from within the command chamber, long coat flaring behind him. His voice was calm, but firm. "Seal the inner temple. Eyes in the air immediately. I want three long-range casters sweeping that ridge."
Outside, the mountain seemed to awaken.
Wizards ran into position, activating defensive pillars and enchantments that flared like old gods blinking awake. Stone lions animated from the temple eaves, leaping down with earth-shaking weight. Crystal ward-emitters fired beams into the southern mist, dispersing it to reveal—nothing. Just shattered wind and echoes.
The attackers were already gone.
The barrage had lasted no more than thirty seconds.
And yet three wards had collapsed, five outer watchpoints had been scorched, and a third of the defense mages hadn't even seen their enemy.
They'd been tested.
And whoever did it… now knew exactly how the fortress would react.
***
The ridge above the anchor faded behind them in silence.
No triumphant howls. No soaring cries. Just the soft pulse of retreating magic and the crunch of boots over snow and broken stone. One by one, the angels and demons vanished into the mountain mist—veils of concealment magic shrouding them as they peeled away in tight units, like phantoms dissolving back into shadow.
They traveled swiftly.
Through frozen gullies and over narrow goat-trails, cutting southeast along a path no mortal would have found without a blood pact. For nearly an hour they moved without a word, disciplined and cold, until the terrain shifted jagged cliffs giving way to a sunken basin ringed with towering firs and boulders covered in ancient ward-moss. The trees themselves leaned inward, as if guarding the place.
There hidden beneath glamoured rock and celestial camouflage stood their forward base.
A half-submerged cavern flanked by standing stones and guarded by monstrous beings bound in chains of fire and mist. One opened its single glowing eye as the strike team approached, then lowered its head, allowing them to pass.
Inside the cavern, the scent of molten air and sanctified ash mingled uneasily.
Fires burned in floating braziers above a circular war table inscribed with infernal script and divine glyphs magic of light and dark, kept unnaturally stable.
Already waiting was a smaller group other commanders, advisors, and recorders of the eternal war.
The angel who had led the assault his shattered halo casting strange shadows stepped forward and pressed his hand into the center of the war table. The glyphs flared to life, casting an image of the valley fortress.
"They reacted with speed," he said coldly. "Not disorganized. Rigid command structure. No less than five defense layers active within twelve seconds."
A demon with pale, smoke-breathing eyes snorted, "They sealed their inner temple faster than expected. Morpheus was in command?"
The angel nodded. "He did not cast. He gave orders. Channeled the defenders. Coordinated defense vectors."
Another demon stepped forward female, with razor-thin horns and scorched-black skin wrapped in enchanted armor. "The wards flared red. Rune-based, not purely magical. That means they're feeding off the leyline, not just ambient energy."
"Which means," the haloed angel added, "their wards can collapse under inversion or reflection magic."
A pause. Then the demoness smirked. "Then we make them collapse from within next time."
One of the lower-ranking angels young by the look of him, golden-faced and taut with concern spoke up.
"What of casualties?"
"None," said the commander. "We withdrew before counterfire reached us. We left no trace. This was not war. It was observation."
"And what did we observe?" growled a voice deeper than all the rest. A demon elder, emerging from the shadows—his horns curling like molten roots, his presence making the fire dim.
The angel commander turned toward him, voice unreadable.
"They're strong. But afraid."
He let that hang in the air a moment.
"They've overcompensated with perimeter strength. But the center is vulnerable. They think the divine and the damned will charge again with brute force. They're not prepared for subtlety."
Another angel raised an eyebrow. "Then we strike again soon?"
The demon elder folded his arms. "Not yet. Let the fear simmer."
The angel nodded. "And while they stare south… we move east."
The fires burned hotter now, as if hungering.
Plans were already shifting.
The next strike wouldn't be loud.
It would be silent.
And this time, something would bleed.