As they advanced toward the central plaza, the silence broke.
Music rose suddenly—lutes, drums, and pipes—echoing through the tight streets. The rhythm pulsed unnaturally, vibrating through armor and bone alike.
Argentis came alive.
The main road filled with townsfolk, emerging from alleys and doorways. Many were half-dressed, draped in thin silks, their movements fluid yet strangely mechanical, as if guided by something unseen.
At the center stood the Mayor, flanked by a few guards. He stepped forward quickly, relief flooding his face.
"You've come," he said. "Thank the heavens.
What happened here
The town is under attack… by angels. We don't know why. The people have been hiding."
Murmurs spread through the knights.
The Captain narrowed his eyes. "Angels?"
"We dared not fight them," the Mayor continued. "I ordered everyone to stay out of sight. But now—" he turned sharply to one of his men, "go. Tell them it's safe. Zenith knights have arrived. They'll protect us."
The messenger ran.
Moments later, the streets filled completely.
"Ho, soldiers!" a man shouted from a tavern doorway, raising a cup. "You've come to save us! Then drink—be honored guests! The mountain provides!"
Laughter followed.
Women with painted lips and shimmering garments approached, offering trays of jewelry, fur-lined cloaks, and fine silks. Others carried cups of dark wine and plates of steaming food.
A young recruit hesitated as a woman pressed a cup into his hands.
"Drink," she whispered, her fingers sliding along his armored arm. "You've earned it."
Formation began to falter.
Some knights removed their helmets. Others laughed, accepting food and drink. A few were led gently toward curtained doorways, disappearing inside without protest.
The Captain's voice cut through the noise. "Hold formation!"
But even he hesitated.
The Mayor stepped beside him, calm and reassuring. "They are grateful. Your men are heroes. Let them rest—for a moment at least. We'll keep things orderly."
The Captain frowned, uneasy, but said nothing.
The first scream came from an alley.
Then another.
A knight staggered back into the street, throat cut, eyes wide in shock before he collapsed. The woman who had led him there stepped out behind him—her expression blank, hands stained with blood.
More screams followed.
All across the plaza, the illusion shattered.
Townsfolk turned on the scattered knights. Hidden blades flashed. Cups shattered as poisoned drink spilled across the stone. Those who had wandered off never returned.
"Form up!" the Captain roared, drawing his sword at last.
Too late.
The formation was broken.
The Mayor stepped back slowly, lifting his own cup, watching the chaos unfold with cold satisfaction.
"Such brave heroes," he murmured.
He moved closer to the Captain, smile thin… and drew a concealed blade.
Kael saw it.
"Captain—!"
The warning came just in time. The Captain turned, catching the strike and knocking it aside with a sharp clash of steel.
The Mayor stumbled back, dropping the act entirely.
"It's a trap!" Kael shouted.
At that moment, the sky split with light.
A blazing figure descended, wings of pure mana unfurling as it struck the ground between the Captain and the advancing townsfolk. The force of the landing blasted enemies back.
Kael landed beside them—bloodied, breathing hard.
Behind him stood the angel in radiant white armor, its presence burning against the dark.
The surviving knights rallied, forming a desperate line.
But they were outnumbered.
Townsfolk surged forward—and among them, some of their own. Knights who had drunk too deeply, who now turned with vacant eyes, blades raised against their former allies.
The battle erupted.
Steel clashed against steel. The angel moved like a force of nature, light cutting through attackers in sweeping arcs. Each strike sent ripples of energy through the crowd, but still they came.
Kael fought beside the Captain, hammer in hand, barely holding his ground.
"We can't hold them!" someone shouted.
From behind the angel, a young girl's voice rang out—clear and urgent.
"Fall back!" she cried. "There's a church nearby—it's protected ground! Go, now!"
The angel stepped forward, wings spreading wide, holding the tide at bay.
"Move!" the Captain ordered.
The remaining knights began to retreat, dragging the wounded with them as the angel stood alone against the oncoming swarm—light against madness.
The "celebration" twisted into nightmare when a squad led by Sir Harlen broke away from the main force and turned into a wide, shadowed alley.
They followed a wet, rhythmic sound—flesh striking flesh, heavy breathing echoing off stone.
At the alley's end, they found a mass of bodies.
Nearly twenty townsfolk, naked and entwined, locked together in a frantic, suffocating tangle of limbs. The movement was wrong—too fast, too desperate, like something feeding.
"Stand down!" Harlen roared, stepping forward.
In an instant, everything changed.
White porcelain masks shimmered into existence over every face.
A sound followed—a low, rising moan. Not human. Not natural. It crawled into the mind, thick with something suffocating and obscene.
The knights froze.
For a single heartbeat, they could not move.
Then the mass exploded.
Bodies snapped toward them with inhuman speed. The masks split open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. They hit the knights before steel could even rise.
Screams tore through the alley.
Harlen's men were dragged down, ripped apart in seconds—armor torn open, flesh shredded beneath snapping jaws.
From the deeper shadows, more shapes emerged.
Not human.
Hairless, twisted forms—bodies warped into grotesque mockeries, their features blending in unnatural ways, skin slick with black, oozing ichor. Their limbs bent wrong, stretching too far, reaching too fast.
"Lust-born!" the Captain snarled from the street beyond. "Watch their reach!"
The creatures lunged, their elongated arms striking from impossible distances, dragging more knights into the chaos.
The battle across Argentis collapsed into desperation.
The air itself felt infected. Whispers slipped into the mind, soft and inviting.
Sir Thomas, a seasoned veteran, faltered mid-strike.
His sword lowered.
His eyes lost focus.
"Do you hear her…?" he murmured.
"Thomas!" Kael shouted.
But Thomas was already fumbling with his armor, fingers trembling as he tore at the clasps.
"She's calling…"
Piece by piece, he stripped himself, stepping forward as if drawn by an unseen hand.
"Thomas, stop!" Kael pushed toward him, but the narrow streets boxed them in—stone walls on one side, sheer mountain cliffs on the other. There was nowhere to maneuver, nowhere to break the pull.
The whispers grew louder.
Closer.
Just as Thomas bared his chest—
Light descended.
Blinding. Pure.
A radiant figure crashed down between them, wings of shimmering mana spreading wide. The force alone drove the creatures back, their shrieks cutting through the air.
The angel stepped forward, a blade of light forming in its hand.
And the fight began again.