Every garrison in the country had heard the reports by noon. Kharn Moldur was ash, Brakkenvein was a crater, and the third fort down the line had gone silent before its own signal tower had finished climbing.
The demigod was walking the length of the nation, and every stone wall between the coast and the capital had been bracing for him.
The barrier came online first, a dome of pale-gold runes flickering up from the foundation stones and climbing the mountain on both sides of the fortress until it met over the crown in a single locked apex. It was siege-grade dwarven rune-forge built to hold against armies.
A heartbeat behind it, twenty rune-bound cannons flared to life along the rampart in a coordinated volley, and rounds the size of barrels came screaming down the slope toward the Primordial Villain along the steepest line the angled mounts could manage.
