Sereth did not retreat far.
He repositioned.
The demon army did not roar when the order came.
They tightened.
Formations shifted from probing assault to crushing advance.
Layered ranks.
Shield walls reinforced.
Artillery recalibrated.
This was no longer testing.
This was eradication by attrition.
The plains, already scarred, trembled under synchronized marching.
Kael stood at the front with Tharion beside him.
Silver scales cracked.
Golden flame dimmed.
Behind them, the sixty regrouped — fewer steady now, more wounded.
Malenie's blade still glowed.
Maelor leaned heavier on his staff than before.
Lira's breathing was sharper.
They had survived the measurement.
Now came the verdict.
The first artillery volley fell without warning.
Void shells detonated not in front of them — but behind.
Cutting off retreat paths.
Maelor reacted instantly, throwing up layered barriers.
Three shattered.
One held.
Barely.
The demon infantry advanced through the smoke in absolute discipline.
No reckless charges.
No wasted motion.
They absorbed losses without hesitation.
Kael rose into the air to break their center.
Plasma condensed.
He fired.
The beam tore a massive trench through the front line.
And they filled it immediately.
Not scrambling.
Replacing.
He fired again.
And again.
Each blast cost him more than before.
His core flickered between red plasma and unstable white flare.
Below, the warlord returned.
Armor reforged.
Cleaver reconstituted through void-forging.
He did not leap this time.
He walked.
Toward Kael.
Nyxara did not immediately engage Malenie.
She moved through the ranks instead, striking at key defenders, targeting support units, cutting cohesion.
The void-general resumed subtle fractures — not grand tears, but constant micro-distortions that drained Maelor's focus.
Pressure.
Constant.
Relentless.
Tharion dove first.
Golden flame crashed into the advancing center, forcing temporary space.
But the shadow-dragon followed immediately, colliding with him mid-descent.
They hit the ground together.
The impact flattened everything within a hundred meters.
Kael descended to assist—
—and the warlord was waiting.
The cleaver struck his side mid-landing.
This time, Kael didn't fully absorb it.
The blade pierced between cracked silver scales.
Blood hit the earth.
Real.
Heavy.
Bright against ash.
Kael staggered.
The warlord followed with a second strike that sent him skidding across shattered ground.
The demon infantry surged around them, closing ranks.
Tharion roared and forced the shadow-dragon back, but he saw it—
Kael down.
Surrounded.
Golden flame exploded outward as Tharion abandoned his duel and launched toward Kael.
The shadow-dragon seized the opening.
Void jaws clamped onto Tharion's wing mid-flight.
They crashed together again, but this time Tharion twisted mid-fall, forcing himself between the shadow-dragon and Kael's position.
The impact drove him to one knee.
Golden scales cracked visibly.
The shadow-dragon's claws dug deep into his back.
Tharion did not move.
He braced.
Kael tried to rise.
His vision blurred.
The silver dragon within him surged — but unstable.
Flickering between brilliance and dimming ash.
Malenie cut her way toward him, flame carving narrow corridors through demon ranks.
Lira followed, pulling wounded soldiers back inch by inch.
Maelor unleashed controlled detonations, but every spell now required greater effort.
The demon army tightened again.
Shields locked.
Spears leveled.
Void energy humming low across the formation.
Compression.
Kael forced himself upright.
His sword flickered into existence in his hand — silver light unstable, blade wavering.
The warlord stepped forward again.
Tharion roared as the shadow-dragon's claws tore deeper into him.
Golden fire flared wildly—
—and dimmed.
For a terrifying second—
It almost went out.
Malenie saw it.
"No—" she breathed.
Tharion forced one wing outward in a violent surge, blasting the shadow-dragon back just enough to stand.
He positioned himself in front of Kael fully now.
Shield.
Not king.
Not legend.
Shield.
"You stand," Tharion said without turning.
Kael's breath shook.
"I—"
"You stand."
Another artillery volley fell.
Maelor barely intercepted half.
Explosions tore into the human flank.
More soldiers dropped.
Not dead.
But broken.
The demon line advanced again.
Unstoppable in rhythm.
Sereth watched from distance.
Not intervening.
Not accelerating.
Simply allowing inevitability to unfold.
Kael lifted his sword.
Its light dimmed once.
Flickered.
Stabilized weakly.
The warlord charged.
Tharion stepped forward despite torn scales and bleeding wing.
And for the first time—
Fear touched Kael.
Not fear of death.
Fear of failing the name he carried.
The demon army closed around them in tightening formation.
Act IV had begun.
And the grind would not stop.