After marching for several hours through the oppressive gloom of the Forest of Echoing Sorrows, General Amazel raises a clenched fist, bringing the entire column to an immediate, silent halt.
"Julie," she says, her voice low. "Scout the perimeter and other factors. If it's suitable, we make camp here."
With a sharp nod and a barely perceptible wink, Julie signals her team. They melt into the shadows without a sound, their movements a testament to their elite training. Minutes stretch into a tense silence before they return. One scout leans in, his whisper barely audible as he reports the terrain's features: a small clearing, a rock formation to the west that could serve as a natural barrier, and no immediate signs of large predators.
Julie turns to Amazel. "The ground is high and clear. We can secure the perimeter. It's suitable, General."
"Then we hold here!" Amazel announces, her voice carrying through the ranks. "Make camp! Stay vigilant!"
The camp erupts into a well-practised ballet of efficiency. Tents are pitched in a defensive ring, watch rotations are posted, and soon, the scent of something far richer than standard rations begins to waft from the central cookfire. That evening, the command group sits together on a large fallen log, eating a surprisingly delicious and hearty stew.
Sylphy blinks at her bowl, then at Amazel. "General… why the lavish meal? We have our rations."
Amazel offers a rare, gentle smile. "We are at war. Morale is a weapon as sharp as any sword. A good meal, a full stomach... it reminds a soldier what they're fighting for." Her words, simple and true, settle over them like a blessing. At that moment, in their eyes, she is not their general; she is a goddess, a guardian.
Gobuka, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth, grins. "You're my favourite general! You're kind, intelligent, beautiful, wise, and strong! Not like that skeleton-head who only knows how to torture people."
A faint blush colours Amazel's cheeks. "Oh, stop that. I'm not..." she demurs, though she can't hide a pleased smile, basking in the genuine camaraderie.
Around them, the mood is mixed. Amar is already asleep in his tent, exhausted from his healing efforts after the chiroswyrm attack. Tylon eats in his usual reliable silence, a rock of stability. Elfir picks at his food, his guilt a palpable weight next to Tylon's quiet strength.
And Julie's eyes remain locked on the treeline, her posture taut.
Sylphy follows her gaze. "Julie? What is it? You've been staring into the dark for an hour."
Julie snaps her attention back, a perfectly crafted, cheerful smile instantly on her face. "Nothing! Just... watching the shadows dance. Ah, Sylphy, that's a beautiful hairclip! Where did you get it?"
Sylphy, effortlessly diverted, launches into an enthusiastic and endlessly detailed story about a market stall. Julie nods along, internally sighing in relief. 'Ah!…she talks too much, for god's sake someone stop her. Ah… My ears are bleeding.' A well-timed yawn provides her escape. "So sleepy. Let's talk tomorrow!" she says, ducking into her tent to feign sleep, her senses still screaming about the forest.
Chirp. Chirp.
The sound is faint, artificial. Not an insect. Julie is out of her bedroll in a flash, dagger in hand, slipping into the night. She follows the sound to a small clearing 600 meters east of camp. It is empty. But her eyes are drawn to the ground a broken vial, its remnants a viscous, crimson liquid soaking into the soil.
Ssshaa! Ssshaa!
A rattlesnake, eyes wild with unnatural frenzy, strikes at her heel with no warning rattle. Julie's dagger moves in a silver arc, severing its head. The body thrashes, the head's fangs still snapping mindlessly at the air.
'A rattlesnake that doesn't rattle... It attacks with pure, mindless rage.' Her eyes dart from the twitching reptile to the red-soaked earth. Her blood runs cold. 'A lure. A potent one. We're not in a camp; we're in a bait box.'
She doesn't hesitate. A piercing whistle shatters the night's silence, once, twice, three times the signal for imminent, catastrophic attack. She turns and sprints back to camp.
Chaos is already being forged into order by the time she arrives. Amazel stands at the centre, her voice a steady drumbeat of command, directing soldiers into a defensive formation.
"General!" Julie skids to a halt, thrusting the broken vial into Amazel's hand. "East perimeter! It's a lure!"
Amazel touches the residue, rubbing it between her fingers, then brings it to her nose. Her face pales. "Demon scent. Potent. This is Seb-ath's work." Her head snaps up, voice amplifying into a roar. "Vanguards, shield wall perimeter! Mages, behind them, prepare area denial spells! NOW!"
She locks eyes with Julie. "You. Take your scouts. Use the trees. Create barricades, pitfalls, deadfalls whatever you can. Slow them down! We need time!"
Julie is already moving, her team falling in behind her. Axes bite into wood. Wires are strung taut between trees. The forest itself is turned into a weapon in a frantic, thirty-minute frenzy of preparation.
Then, the forest answers.
It begins as a distant tremor, a deep-throated roaring that grows into a deafening wave of sound. Trees splinter and fall as the stampede arrives.
"WHAT WE FACE IS A STAMPEDE!" Amazel's voice rises above the din, not in fear, but in defiant challenge. "FRENZIED MONSTERS THAT KNOW ONLY DESTRUCTION! HERE, ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE! THIS IS THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE!" She pauses, her sword held high. "TELL ME, WHO IS STRONGEST?!"
"WE ARE!" five hundred voices thunder back.
"WHO WILL SURVIVE?!"
"WE WILL!"
"THEN LET THE JUNGLE KNOW OUR STRENGTH!"
A unified, earth-shaking roar erupts from the army, their fear forged into blazing resolve.
The first wave hits the traps. A giant tiger leaps from the bushes, only for its forelegs to be severed by razor-sharp steel wires. It crashes down, impaled by poison-tipped darts triggered by its fall. The victory is short-lived. The jungle itself seems to vomit forth its inhabitants: panthers with claws like scimitars, cackling hyenas, wolves with frothing muzzles, and a monstrous, tusked elephant that charges the line.
The vanguard holds, their shields interlocked into an unbreakable wall. Spells and arrows rain down behind them, thinning the horde. For a moment, it seems manageable.
Then the ground beneath the front line erupts.
A colossal, stone-plated armadillo-like creature, a Gravadilo bursts from the earth, its jagged teeth latching onto a vanguard's leg and shaking him violently like a ragdoll.
"AAAAGHH!"
With a horrific tear, the soldier's leg is severed. He is thrown aside, his body crashing through a tent. The defensive line buckles. Monsters pour through the breach.
"PYRO BALL!" Amazel's spell incinerates three creatures closing in on the wounded man. "TYLON! THE GRAVADILO IS YOURS!"
"AFFIRMATIVE!"
Tylon moves with a speed belying his size. His massive hammer swings in a wide arc, clearing a space around him. He charges, leaping high into the air and bringing his hammer down on the beast's head with the force of a meteor.
CRUNCH!
Stone plating shatters. The Gravadilo shrieks, staggering back, black blood oozing from the crater in its skull. Enraged, it spins, whipping its spiked tail at Tylon's chest. He catches the blow on his shield with a deafening CLANG, but is driven back a step. Before he can counter, the beast curls into a perfect, terrifyingly fast stone ball and launches itself at him. Tylon barely dodges, the wind of its passage whipping at his face.
And then, the true predators arrive.
From the tree canopy descends Plumivorax, a peacock whose iridescent tail feathers are not for show, but are a fan of razor-sharp, jewelled blades.
From the shadows slinks Vulpyre, a fox-like creature whose sleek fur smoulders with embers, leaving trails of fire in its wake.
And from a newly torn chasm in the earth rises the Terrasnake, a colossal serpent armoured in stone plates, its eyes glowing with malevolent hunger.
Amazel's command cuts through the battlefield, clear and absolute. "ALL COMMANDERS, ENGAGE THE TYRANTS! EVERYONE ELSE, HOLD THE LINE! CLEAR THE FOOT SOLDIERS!"
The battle fractures into a series of deadly duels. Gobuka's sword meets the singing blades of Plumivorax's feathers in a shower of sparks. Elfir, his guilt burned away in the heat of battle, unleashes his own fire against the infernal Vulpyre. Julie and Sylphy move as one, flanking the colossal Terrasnake, their attacks looking for a chink in its stony armour.
Above it all, Amar and his light mages weave a web of healing and protective energy, desperately trying to keep the crumbling defensive line from breaking completely. The camp has become an island under siege, surrounded by a sea of claws, teeth, and rage.