The drums of war beat long before the beasts arrived.
From the walls of the Latian clan fortress, Zed stood, arms folded, Shadow Staff resting against his shoulder. His crimson-lined robes fluttered in the wind, the phoenix crest stitched in gold catching the pale dawn light. Beneath him, the villagers were being ushered inside, hundreds of families funneling past the gates. The clan warriors formed ranks on the outer courtyards, spears and halberds bristling like a forest of steel. The granaries had been opened, carts of grain pulled in by oxen, their wheels creaking under the weight.
It was chaos, but controlled chaos — exactly as Zed had proposed. Against the elders' doubts, against their stubbornness, the plan had been set in motion. And now, as the banners of the Latian clan unfurled above the walls, red and gold snapping in the wind, Zed could feel the moment approaching.
The tide had begun.
Far to the south, the first horn blasts echoed, rolling over the hills like thunder. A deep, primal sound followed — the howls of beasts. The ground trembled faintly. Even the air grew thick with an iron tang, as though the earth itself bled in warning.
The men shifted nervously, some gripping their weapons too tight, others whispering prayers. Zed remained silent. His dark eyes scanned the horizon. He had faced worse than this — alone, bloodied, against monsters greater than most men had ever seen. Compared to the crimson lion's burning fangs, compared to the undine's drowning embrace, compared to the overwhelming fury of that thing… this was nothing.
But they didn't know that. To them, this was their first taste of the tide. To them, this was the edge between life and annihilation.
The gates shut. The drums stopped. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of breathing.
And then the beasts came.
From the treeline surged a pack of scaled hounds, their bodies twisted with bone ridges, eyes glowing feral red. Behind them, feathered serpents slithered across the ground, wings beating dust into the air. Above, carrion crows the size of horses wheeled, shrieking as they dived. The tide was here — dozens, then hundreds, then more, a flood of fur, scale, claw, and fang.
"Hold!" Zed's voice rang clear, carrying across the courtyard. He stepped forward, his staff glinting as it elongated into its battle form. "Spearmen! First rank — brace! Archers! To the walls! Casters — hold your chants until my mark!"
The men obeyed, tension snapping into readiness. The first wave of beasts slammed into the spears — bodies impaled, shrieks of pain splitting the air. Arrows rained down, pinning the serpents as they slithered and hissed. Bolts of flame and wind erupted from the walls, blasting holes through the packs.
But more came. Always more.
Zed leapt forward.
Shadow wrapped his form, and in the blink of an eye he was five meters ahead, reappearing amidst the beasts. His staff spun, cracking skulls, shattering spines. Each strike was precise, efficient — no wasted motion. His feet slid over the blood-soaked ground, Shadowfoot Movement carrying him faster than the eye could follow.
A scaled hound lunged at him. He twisted, staff slamming upward through its jaw, splitting bone. Another beast leapt from behind, fangs ready to pierce — but the air shimmered.
And the Vampire appeared.
A blur of pale skin, crimson eyes burning, claws slicing the beast in half mid-air. Blood sprayed, and the Vampire's fangs sank into another hound before it could even hit the ground. It drank deep, aura flaring with savage vitality. Then it vanished — body dissolving into a swarm of bats that scattered, reforming again behind the beasts' ranks. It tore them apart from within, a predator among cattle.
The men froze.
They had heard rumors of Zed's "strange summon." They had scoffed, whispered, doubted. But now they saw it — a nightmare made flesh, moving with terrifying grace, killing with inhuman speed. It fought not like a beast, but like a general — cutting down the enemy's momentum, sowing chaos, driving the tide into disarray.
"By the heavens…" one soldier whispered.
"Is that… his beast?" another muttered, awe and fear mingling in his tone.
Zed's voice snapped them back. "Eyes forward! Do not falter! Hold the line — strike with me!"
And then they moved.
Where he struck, they struck. Where he cut down beasts like vegetables, they pressed, their courage renewed. His presence was a blade carving through fear itself, and the men rallied to it.
The first wave shattered.
Bodies littered the ground, blood soaking the dirt, the stench of iron heavy in the air. The soldiers panted, some trembling, but none broke. They looked at him now not as the overlooked young master, not as the boy with the "useless zombie," but as their commander.
And Zed was far from finished.
From the treeline, heavier steps thundered. The ground shook. Trees splintered. A roar split the air as a massive form emerged — a tusked beast the size of a house, bristling with bone plates, eyes wild with fury. A Lord Beast.
The men faltered. Some gasped.
But Zed only tightened his grip on his staff, his lips curving into the faintest shadow of a smile.
This was where he belonged.
He stepped forward, his Vampire materializing at his side, crimson eyes meeting his in silent understanding. They did not need words. Together, they advanced.
And the battle for the clan's honor truly began.