Dawn came with the smell of sulfur and fear.
Liam stood at the northern ridge overlooking The Scar, watching five massive stone bridges span a canyon that dropped three hundred feet to jagged rocks below. Each bridge was wide enough for perhaps twenty soldiers to cross shoulder-to-shoulder. Each was defended by Radiant Empire forces who'd spent weeks preparing for exactly this assault.
Three thousand defenders against two hundred thousand attackers.
The mathematics should have favored the demon army overwhelmingly.
But mathematics changed when the only paths forward were bottlenecks that artillery could target with devastating precision.
"Legion One is positioned," Commander Torven reported, his voice steady despite the violence about to commence. "Assault formations ready. Soldiers understand the cost."
Liam could see them now—thousands of demons arranged in waves that would crash against fortified positions until bridges were taken or assault became unsustainable.
