The walls of Herion trembled under the rhythmic pounding of catapults, the thrum of bowstrings, and the howling of monsters.
Upon its highest bastion stood Varn, cape fluttering, eyes hard as steel.
The leader of the Sentinels, the sworn defenders of Herion, gazed toward the horizon, where a towering abomination darkened the edge of the world.
Gaia, corrupted and maddened by the entity within her, loomed like a blasphemy against creation.
He turned his gaze back to the sea of horrors below the walls. Winged beasts, clawed giants, shadowy serpents, and flesh golems crawled, leapt, and slithered across the earth toward the city, screaming with soulless hunger.
Varn clenched his jaw. "Three days… can we even hold for three hours?"
That whisper of doubt made his stomach churn.
He slapped his own cheek hard enough to draw blood.
No. He wouldn't allow that.
