They clustered beneath a sky that had gone iron and cold, wind snapping banners and carrying the tang of smoke. Ekzyros crouched at the center of the plain like a storm made flesh, its webs threading the ground like black veins. Around them, men readied themselves-helmets buckled, gauntlets clenched-waiting for a plan that might save them from a god.
"Until we know the weakness, we can't attack that bastard," Bero said flatly.
"So what should we do?" John demanded.
Robert and Kenjuroth exchanged a hard, quick look; they both nodded as if a single thought had struck them. Robert stepped forward and spoke with the calm of a man who had learned to shape panic into purpose. "The devil cannot move quickly when it channels its power. It sends destruction without shifting its form-so we strike when it prepares to strike. Our only chance is Stormcleaver. We split into two teams: one will act as the decoy and draw its attention; the other will hold back, waiting for the moment it commits. When it lashes out, Kenjuroth will strike with Stormcleaver, then the second team will hit it from the front."
A ripple of agreement swept the ranks. Kenjuroth's hand tightened around the haft of his blade.
Robert didn't stop. "I don't have my God-of-Destruction blade with me. We have one task above all: protect Kenjuroth while he brings the sword to bear. He needs time-so we must make that time."
Voices rose: "Decoy team, I'm in!" Alexander Junior declared. "Me too," Paul added.
"John and I will hold the rear," Kenjuroth said.
"Then I'll back the second team," Bero volunteered.
A small unease flickered across Robert's face when Bero volunteered, but there was no time to linger on distrust. He turned to Nyros. "We'll take the front," he said.
Nyros leaned close and murmured, "Do you trust Bero? We barely know him."
"No," Robert answered bluntly, "but I trust John. For extra safety-Nyros, please stay with my brother."
"You needn't ask," Nyros replied. "Promise me, friend-you will not lose."
"There is no one who can kill me," Robert said, drawing his sword and stepping ahead of the front line.
Clouds rolled in again and the wind cut across his face; a stray shaft of sunlight broke the gray and struck his cheek, lighting the rage in his eyes. He turned to the men arrayed before him and raised his voice so it carried to the furthest rank.
"This is a war between man and devil," he called. "I know many of you are anxious. You want to return home to your families-so do I. But this is the battle for our existence. If we run, our families die. If we stand and fall, we leave a chance for others. History will remember not our comforts but our courage. We may lose, we may win-what matters is that we fight. Fight so others may live. Fight so hope can remain. Are you with me? Will you stand to conquer Death?"
A roar answered him, a hundred thousand voices crashing up like surf: "Yes! We are!"
"Then go!" Robert shouted. "Attack!"
The front ranks surged like a living tide. Steel met shadow as the decoy team charged into Ekzyros's reach. The creature responded with a guttural, inhuman scream that rolled across the plain and a lash of force that flung men as if they were rag dolls. Where its black web struck, men crumpled and vanished into grotesque lumps of flesh. Soldiers collapsed in heaps; some never rose again. Hope thinned like a candle guttering in wind.
Robert watched the carnage with a steadied fury. He felt the sword in his hand, balanced, familiar-an anchor. He met the hollow, white-lit eyes of Ekzyros across the ruined ground and, with a small, grim smile, let the Arqui within him flare.
The moment he unleashed it a pressure like a collapsing sky struck the field. The air grew thin and heavy; every breath became a labor. Robert's irises burned red, a savage flare that cut through dusk as if his gaze could pierce souls. The world around him crackled with raw, ancient power. An invisible weight pressed down on shoulders and helmets; men doubled over, choking on the force. The ground itself seemed to groan under the presence of Arqui.
Whispers curdled into gasps and then silence. Shock and panic spread like wildfire. No one stirred-each man felt the same thing: the bruising, overwhelming presence of a force older than kingdoms. For a single suspended heartbeat, the field was held by that terrible hush.
Robert threw his voice into the stillness, hard and fearless. "Hey, you filthy creature," he shouted at the shadow that towered before him. "If you want to kill anyone-try me. My soldiers are not here to die. To kill me you must fight with me first. What do you say, you filthy scrap?"
The challenge hung in the cold air. Around him, the battlefield waited-on the knife-edge between despair and defiance.