Malik stood frozen in the center of the kill zone, his mind unable to process the sheer density of the chaos unfolding around him.
The air didn't just smell of war; it tasted of it. Copper blood, ozone, and the dry grit of stirred earth coated his tongue. Soldiers crashed into one another, a cacophony of ringing steel and splintering shields. War cries tore throats raw, competing with the thunder of stampeding horses.
But the horses were the least of it.
Something massive roared—a sound so deep it vibrated in Malik's chest cavity. He flinched as a shadow swept over him, blotting out the bruised sky. He looked up, squinting through the choking dust, and saw them.
Behemoths.
