The battlefield lay thick with smoke and ash. The clash of steel and screams had momentarily faded into a tense stillness. Then, from the swirling mist ahead, a new and terrible presence emerged.
An eight-foot-tall Hallowhand lumbered forward, its skeletal frame twisted and pulsating with corrupt energy. Towering beside it were five Ironmaw beasts, each more than twelve feet tall. Their massive jaws, forged of corrupted iron and bone, snapped menacingly as they stalked in unison, guarding the Hallowhand like living walls of death.
Bruga's fierce eyes gleamed as he caught sight of the Ironmaws. A cruel smile spread across his scarred face. "I will use those teeth as my new necklace," he growled, the promise of battle burning in his voice.
He turned sharply to his own forces, raising his voice above the murmurs of the storm-worn battlefield. "Ironwall cohort, on me! No fear, no falter. This is our crucible, our unbreakable will forged in fire and stone. We do not yield. We do not retreat. We crush them beneath our feet."
Two hundred warriors of the Skarnulf clan, Bruga's new Ironwall cohort, answered with a thunderous roar. Clad in dark, earth-toned armor forged for endurance and strength, they formed dense ranks behind massive shields. The ground beneath them seemed to shudder as their heavy steps prepared to meet the oncoming horror.
The Ironwall cohort was the immovable heart of the Stormguard's battle doctrine. Unlike the nimble spear lines or fiery warmages, these warriors did not rush or charge. They pressed forward relentlessly, one crushing step after another, like an unstoppable wall grinding down all resistance.
Their shields were not mere defenses but deadly weapons. Each shield bash shattered bone and broke ranks. Each footfall cracked the earth, anchoring their advance against the tide of corruption.
Their elemental affinities focused on earth and fire. Earth warriors anchored the line and shaped the battlefield beneath them, using Gravelwalk stability and Stonebrace holds to resist shock and chaos. Fire warriors surged through breaches and broke enemy morale with controlled flame discipline. Rare dual-affinity warriors wielded both elements, guiding squads with a blend of unyielding force and burning fury.
Bruga led the front block, his Emberplate Mantle glowing faintly with molten qi. In his hands, Pyrebite, a war axe forged of emberstone, blazed with raw power. His twin ember hatchets gleamed as extensions of his will, ready to rend any who dared approach.
Behind the front lines, Ashbreakers readied themselves. This elite fireline unit specialized in shock assaults and breach warfare. Their ash-colored helms and ember greaves gleamed dimly in the smoke. They waited for Bruga's command, prepared to unleash flame-charged spear strikes, rapid burnstep surges, and devastating ember explosions.
"Brace yourselves," Bruga called. "The Grind begins now."
On the Ironwall's left flank, shadows shifted as the Virak'tai emerged. Two hundred strong, these dark elves moved with lethal grace born from harsh Spartan discipline and arcane precision. Their armor was black as midnight, crested helms, sleek cuirasses, armguards, and shin guards forged from an unyielding alloy. Black leather beneath allowed silent, fluid movement.
From their armor's sigils, a faint black aura leaked, a sinister shimmer that twisted the light around them. Their half-moon shields, painted in glossy obsidian, were smaller and lighter than the heavy Ironwall barriers but no less deadly. Their weapons were longer falcatas, more curved and saber-like, designed for slashing with swift, precise arcs. Flame sigils glowed softly along the blades' edges, igniting their strikes with burning speed.
At the forefront stood Warden Nyzekh, a living shadow cloaked in Nullmantle Carapace. His armor drank the battlefield's light, leaving a void of darkness around him. The twin black sabers, Eclipsed Fang, hung at his sides like whispers of oblivion.
Without warning, Nyzekh vanished from the Virak'tai ranks. Moments later, he appeared deep within the Nerathil horde. His void domain expanded silently and deadly, erasing everything within a thirty-meter radius. Enemy warriors, corrupted beasts, and even the twisted earth beneath them were swallowed by absolute nothingness. It was as if the battlefield itself forgot their existence.
Then his sabers came alive. With a dance as fluid as darkness flowing, the Eclipsed Fang cut through Nerathil flesh and bone. Each strike was both blade and silence. The air seemed to hold its breath as his weapons severed sinew and shattered corrupted steel. Where Nyzekh moved, the Nerathil crumbled, bodies dissolving into shadows and forgotten memories.
Bruga was fire and earth incarnate. His cultivation flowed like molten rock deep beneath a volcano, patient and contained, yet ready to erupt with devastating force. Known as the Molten Vein Doctrine, his path focused on explosive power channeled with fierce control.
His signature strike, the Pyroclastic Fist, drew from the vast reservoir of qi that still surged strong within him nearly eighty percent full coiling like molten magma beneath his thickened skin, building kinetic heat ready to erupt. When he struck, the stored energy unleashed in a violent burst, sending searing shockwaves rippling outward across the battlefield, scorching enemies and pulverizing corrupted flesh. His Pyroclastic Burst was even more devastating, a towering wave of flame and force that surged forward from his position, igniting everything in its path. The heat radiated so intensely that his Emberplate Mantle hissed and steamed, vents along the armor releasing bursts of superheated air to cool his body while redirecting qi to absorb the recoil of his explosive strikes. Though the display was awe-inspiring, it drained his qi rapidly and demanded razor-sharp focus and perfect balance to control the explosive power without consuming himself.
Wielding Pyrebite, a war axe core-charged with emberstone and vented to unleash heat pressure strikes, Bruga moved like a volcanic tempest. His ember hatchets flashed in close combat, carving fiery arcs through enemy ranks. His Emberplate Mantle armor, layered over volcanic fiber mesh, vented excess heat and absorbed recoil from his explosive blows.
Blood sprayed in sizzling arcs as Bruga smashed through corrupted limbs and cracked open chests, embers licking torn flesh with every swing. He tore through blackened bone and molten sinew, the screams of dying Nerathil swallowed by the roar of battle.
"You endure, and you burn," Bruga reminded himself, "but beware the lightning within. It can break even the strongest."
Nyzekh's path was one of absence and negation. His Void Resonance flowed through the Empty Sky Discipline, a cultivation that dissolved form and erased all before it. He carried no weight, no emotion, no memory, only pure intent sharpened to lethal clarity.
His twin Eclipsed Fang sabers were black-forged and light-bending, cutting not just flesh but the very essence of thought and sound. His Nullmantle Carapace cloak dispersed enemy qi pulses and extinguished ambient light within a meter radius, making him a living shadow on the field.
Using his void domain was dangerous, risking spiritual erosion and emotional numbness. But in battle, Nyzekh was the silence before the storm, a whisper of oblivion that turned enemy ranks into nothingness.
Blood and shadow mixed as his blades danced through corrupted Nerathil bodies, severing heads and dismembering limbs with silent precision. Where Nyzekh moved, gore melted into darkness, and enemies ceased to be.
Yezari Val'Kyren moved like a winter gale through the smoke and blood. Her Frost Qi cultivation, taught by the Eight-Petaled Cold Lotus Path, halted time and froze intent. She wielded Whiteshear, a frost-bound saber forged in silence, cutting clean through corrupted spiritual defenses. Her Whitelight Frostplate armor was pale and etched with lotus petals, layered over white leather that muffled her steps and left no qi signature.
Yezari did not strike first. She waited, still and calm, until the moment came to end. Her Frozen Bloom Reversal bloomed at her feet, locking enemies in suspended animation. Time itself slowed as she pierced their frozen hearts, ending battles with cold finality.
Frozen corpses cracked and shattered beneath her blade as she wove through the chaos, her calm cutting through the madness of war.
On the right flank, a new power stirred.
The Flame Coven had doubled their ranks, swelling from fifty fire maidens to a fierce force of one hundred and forty. Each woman bore newly forged armor from the Stormforge, Ashsteel cuirasses and greaves etched with rune patterns that vented heat and absorbed impacts. Their round shields, etched with spiral flame runes, glowed faintly with heat-reactive magic that repelled corruption.
Their falcatas gleamed with fire sigils that burned brighter with every swing. The armor was lighter and more agile than the Ironwall's but designed for synchronized movement and rapid assault. Flames vented from armor joints and gauntlets, propelling burst strikes and shielding flanking maneuvers.
As they surged forward under Captain Therya Ralin's fierce command, a deep, haunting flame song rose from their ranks. A rhythmic chant melding ancient ash rites with the fierce roar of battle:
"Ash and ember, blaze and burn,From sacred pyre, we take our turn.Fury forged in endless flame,By fire's will, we stake our claim."
The chant wove through the air, a living current of heat and power that pulsed through their veins and armor alike. With every verse, the glow of their flame sigils intensified, their strikes crackling with newfound fury. The battle itself seemed to pulse in time with the flame song, each note fueling their resolve and igniting their souls.
Leading them was Captain Therya Ralin, the Flame Captain of the Emberline. She was rumored to be over eighty years old, preserved through powerful flamebinding magic that had slowed her aging and forged her soul in sacred fire.
Her twin Flameblades, curved and forged from Ashsteel, shimmered with internal fire when drawn in anger. Her Corinthian-style helm, adorned with a deep red plume and etched with her warrior fire-name, gleamed beneath the heavy ember-silk cloak that billowed like a living flame.Therya's voice rang out, rising above the roar of battle and her maidens' chant:"Burn with honor! Let the flame be our shield and sword!"
The flame song surged, a tide of burning sound and spirit that fused with their Pyre Warden Technique and Ashflow Form, propelling the Flame Coven to strike with devastating precision and unyielding fire.
The vanguard of the Ironwall cohort pressed steadily forward, an unyielding wall of earth and fire. Alongside them, the Virak'tai, two hundred dark elves clad in black crested helms and black cuirasses, moved with deadly grace. Their half-moon shields gleamed faintly with flame sigils, and their longer falcatas sliced through the air like burning whispers. Nyzekh led them silently, his void domain striking fear deep into the heart of the Nerathil ranks.
To the right, the Flame Maidens surged, their numbers swelled to one hundred forty strong under Captain Therya Ralin's fierce command. Clad in newly forged ashsteel armor, their flame-sigiled round shields shimmered with heat-reactive runes, turning aside corruption while their twin flameblades burned like living fire. Their war cries rose as one, a roaring inferno of steel and spirit.
Behind this stalwart vanguard, the main ranks of the Stormguard advanced with grim resolve, flanked by the Therani auxiliary legions. These clan warriors, fierce and unrelenting, formed a fluid line of support, skirmishing, harrying, and cutting off any attempts by the Nerathil to flank or retreat.
Together, this triad of forces carved a path through the corrupted battlefield, a bulwark of flesh, steel, and elemental fury.
In the rear of the Nerathil ranks, the towering Ironmaw and the hulking Hollowhand stood like living fortresses. Their monstrous forms cast long shadows over the battlefield, a grim reminder of the challenge ahead.
As the vanguard pressed forward, the Ironmaw captains signaled to their elite guards.
From the Ironmaw ranks, each captain unleashed a hundred Dreadblade brutes, towering monsters wielding fused greatswords capable of cleaving multiple foes with a single strike.
The earth trembled beneath the thunderous advance.
The Ironmaw captains and their Dreadblade legions made their move.
The clash was far from over.