The night after the scouts fled, Daniel stood alone in the canyon, the firelight dancing across his face. His army slept in neat rows, the rumble of tanks and the hum of generators filling the air like a lullaby of steel.
But Daniel's mind wasn't at rest.
The Guild had sorcerers. He'd seen their cloaks flare with light, their shields ripple with force. Arrows and swords wouldn't be their only weapons — they'd bring fire, magic, and things this world had birthed long before he'd arrived.
And while rifles and tanks were strong, he needed something faster. Stronger. Something that would dominate the sky.
He closed his eyes and pictured it: sleek wings cutting through the clouds, twin engines roaring, missiles locked on targets below.
The F-22 Raptor.
The fire surged, nearly knocking him to his knees. His vision flared white, and the air shook as light ripped across the canyon floor.
When it cleared, the jet rested before him, its surface gleaming matte gray, edges sharp like a predator waiting to strike.
The soldiers stirred, murmuring, but Daniel raised a hand.
"Not yet," he said softly, staring at the war machine. "They'll see you when it counts."
The F-22 stayed hidden, tucked into the canyon's farthest cavern, its engines silent, its presence a promise.
But Daniel knew even the best weapons meant nothing if they couldn't break the Guild's defenses.
Their enforcers carried shields that shimmered under blows, their ranks bolstered by magic woven into armor. Rifles might bite, but would they bite deep enough?
He tested.
He created crates of armor-piercing rounds, their steel cores gleaming in the torchlight. He loaded them into magazines, slid one into his rifle, and fired against a conjured shield he modeled from memory.
The crack echoed through the canyon. The bullet tore straight through the shimmering barrier, punching a hole in the stone behind it.
Daniel lowered the rifle, lips curving into a grim smile.
"Your magic won't save you," he muttered. "Not against this."
By dawn, his fortress was alive with preparations — walls higher, towers stronger, ammo crates stacked high.
But deep in the canyon's shadows, the F-22 waited in silence, hidden from every eye but his.
And when the Eternal Guild came with their banners, their shields, and their armies, Daniel Mason would be ready to teach them a new kind of war.
One they'd never imagined.
The Guild didn't waste time.
At dawn, the watchers in the towers spotted the dust of an approaching army. Crimson banners flared against the horizon, the sun glinting off steel and spell-bound shields. Thousands marched in tight formation — swords, spears, and halberds gleaming. Behind them rolled siege towers, heavy ballistae, and carriages laden with supplies.
And at their head, cloaks trimmed in gold and diamond, the Guild's ranked elites.
The Eternal Guild had come to erase him.
Daniel stood at the canyon mouth, Abrams tanks rumbled at his sides, Black Hawks circling above. His soldiers lined the walls, rifles gleaming, armor-piercing rounds locked and loaded.
"Hold the line," Daniel barked. His voice carried across the canyon like thunder. "They're coming to burn us out. But this is our ground. Our home. We do not break."
A roar went up from his men.
But even as he barked orders, his thoughts kept circling back to the cavern behind him — to the sleek predator of steel and fire waiting in the shadows.
The F-22.
It would be the blade in the dark, the hammer that broke the Guild's back.
If he could fly it.
That night, while the Guild's army camped on the horizon, Daniel sat alone in his bunker, the patch glowing faintly in his hand.
He had conjured soldiers, tanks, helicopters. He had drilled them until they moved like a machine. But an F-22 wasn't something you just jumped into.
He needed instincts. Reflexes. Years of training in seconds.
And he knew what it would cost.
The fire stirred the moment the thought formed. His veins burned, his chest clenched, but he guided it with precision.
Not a weapon. Not a soldier. Knowledge.
He pictured an ace pilot. The steady hands. The split-second decisions. The calm under pressure. He pictured every lesson, every drill, every mission they had flown. He pictured their instincts pouring into his own skull.
The burn became agony. His head split with light. He screamed, clutching his temples as memories not his own ripped into place — flight paths, lock-ons, evasive maneuvers, missile systems, G-force survival.
When it ended, he was on the floor, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like a drum.
But when he closed his eyes, he could feel it.
He knew the controls. The sequences. The instincts.
He could fly.
The next morning, the Guild's horns split the air. Their army advanced, shields raised, siege towers rolling. Arrows blotted out the sky, magic flared along their front lines.
Daniel stood at the canyon wall, rifle across his chest, voice steady as stone.
"Hold," he ordered. "Let them come into range."
His soldiers crouched behind sandbags, fingers tight on triggers. Tanks aimed their cannons, engines growling. Black Hawks circled above, waiting.
The Eternal Guild was about to meet modern war.
And when the moment came, when the battle reached its breaking point —
—the F-22 would rise.
The Eternal Guild came at dawn.
Horns blared across the horizon, deep and thunderous, shaking the earth beneath Daniel's boots. Dust clouds rose as thousands of soldiers marched in crimson waves, their banners snapping in the wind.
The canyon walls trembled under the roar of their chants.
Daniel stood atop the main battlement, cloak snapping around him, rifle across his chest. Tanks growled at the canyon mouth, Black Hawks circled above, and soldiers filled the trenches and sandbag lines.
"Eyes up!" Daniel barked into his radio. "They want a war—let's show them one!"
The Guild's army surged forward in disciplined ranks, shields locked, spears bristling. Siege towers creaked behind them, ballistae mounted with bolts the size of tree trunks.
"Hold…" Daniel's voice cut through the comms. "Wait for my mark."
The front ranks entered range.
"Fire."
The canyon exploded in thunder.
Abrams cannons boomed, shells screaming into shield walls and turning them into shrapnel clouds. Heavy machine guns ripped lines through the advancing infantry. Snipers cracked shots from the towers, dropping commanders mid-step.
The Guild's front line faltered—but their mages stepped forward, cloaks glowing, hands weaving arcs of blue flame. Shields shimmered into place, deflecting bullets. Firestorms rained down, smashing against the trenches.
"AP rounds, now!" Daniel ordered.
Armor-piercing fire lit up the walls. Bullets tore through shimmering barriers like they were paper, punching holes through the Guild's shields and dropping ranks of soldiers behind them.
For the first time, the Eternal Guild knew fear.
The Guild roared back, dragging siege towers forward. Spells reinforced their beams, runes glowing across their wheels. Ballistae loosed, bolts slamming into the canyon walls, shaking stone loose.
"Tanks, prioritize siege engines!" Daniel barked.
The Abrams opened up, shells punching holes clean through enchanted wood. Siege towers splintered and collapsed, crushing the soldiers beneath them. Black Hawks swooped down, side gunners unloading streams of bullets into the advancing lines.
The battlefield became chaos—flame, steel, and thunder.
But still, the Guild advanced.
Then came the elites.
Diamond-ranked warriors strode through the smoke, their armor glowing with enchantments, their swords blazing with heat. Rifle fire sparked against their shields, bullets embedding but failing to stop them. They cleaved through trenches, their strength superhuman, their presence terrifying.
And behind them came a single cloaked figure, his robes burning with crimson threads of Red Iridium.
The air itself seemed to bend around him. His voice carried like a bell, steady and cold.
"Break them."
The Diamond elites surged, and for the first time, Daniel's line buckled.
"Concentrated fire, now!" Daniel shouted.
Every rifle, every machine gun, every tank cannon turned on the advancing elites. AP rounds screamed through the air, tearing through magical shields. Diamond warriors fell one by one, armor shattering under barrages of modern fire.
But the Red Iridium mage raised his staff, a crimson barrier flaring to life. Tank shells exploded harmlessly against it. A gesture, and a wave of fire ripped through the trenches, soldiers screaming as the flames consumed them.
"Fall back to secondary line!" Daniel barked, sprinting along the wall. His lungs burned, his chest heaved, but his eyes were sharp. "We give them ground, but we don't give them victory!"
The soldiers obeyed, retreating in disciplined order, setting new firing lines.
The Guild pressed harder, sensing weakness.
Daniel knew the moment had come.
He sprinted down into the cavern, heart pounding. The F-22 loomed in the shadows, silent, waiting. His hand brushed its cold steel.
"This is it," he muttered. "Time to end this."
He climbed into the cockpit. The controls felt like second nature—because they were. The knowledge he had forced into his skull lit up like muscle memory. Switches flicked, systems hummed, engines roared to life.
The jet trembled, hungry to fly.
Daniel gritted his teeth, slammed the throttle forward, and the canyon floor shook as the F-22 shot skyward.
The roar of its engines split the battle like the voice of God.
Soldiers on both sides froze, staring upward in awe and terror.
He locked onto a siege tower. Missiles screamed downward, detonating in white-hot explosions that obliterated wood, steel, and men alike.
He swung low, cannons blazing, cutting lines of infantry in half. Arrows and spells hurled skyward, but nothing touched him—the Raptor was too fast, too agile.
The Red Iridium mage raised his staff, casting a shield skyward. Daniel grinned grimly.
"Let's test those AP rounds."
He dove, guns blazing, and the barrier shattered like glass. The mage staggered, roaring in fury as the Raptor's fire shredded his ranks.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos.
Guild soldiers fled as their towers crumbled. Siege engines burned. Shields shattered. Diamond elites lay broken, their glowing armor pierced through.
And above it all, the F-22 screamed across the sky, thunder incarnate.
The Guild's Red Iridium mage raised his staff one final time, hurling a storm of fire skyward. Daniel rolled, instincts flawless, missiles cutting through the storm and detonating at the mage's feet.
The explosion rocked the battlefield. When the smoke cleared, the mage was gone.
The Eternal Guild broke.
Their army fled, banners trampled in the dirt.
Daniel landed the jet back in the canyon, heart still racing, adrenaline coursing through him. His soldiers cheered, their voices shaking the cliffs.
But Daniel's eyes stayed cold.
The Eternal Guild wouldn't stop here. They had tested him and failed, but they would return. Stronger. Angrier.
He looked across his fortress-town, smoke rising, walls scarred, soldiers bloodied.
This wasn't victory.
It was survival.
And the war had only just begun.