Dusk painted the sky blood red as the army reached the new rift.
This one was narrower than the last, a jagged vertical tear hanging thirty feet above broken ground. It pulsed like a living wound, faint threads of stolen power flickering inside it.
Already small packs of monsters spilled out—sleek, four-legged things with too many joints and long tendrils that whipped through the air.
Aiden stood on a makeshift platform of crates and shields, white hair catching the last light. Golden eyes burned as he channeled power into the sealing formation.
The Empress stood right beside him, body pressed close enough that her hip brushed his. Every time a surge hit him, she steadied him with a hand on his waist, fingers slipping under the edge of his armor again.
"Left flank, reinforce!" she called out, voice carrying over the chaos. "Archers, focus the tendrils!"
