The moment Bufolk's fist struck the ground, the earth answered like a living thing.
Not a simple tremor—no.
A roar rolled up from below, deep and violent, as if something ancient and furious had awakened under the battlefield and was trying to break its way free.
The land cracked open with a thunderous sound that seemed to echo not just across the field, but through the bones of everyone watching.
Chunks of stone and dirt erupted into the air like shrapnel.
And then the crushing force surged upward—turning the ground itself into a weapon.
A little far behind Clay, the Captain felt his breath leave his chest.
His feet were lifted off the earth as the impact slammed into his body like a collapsing wall. His armor rattled; he was thrown backward and crashed into the dirt, struggling to keep his eyes open while dust and debris swallowed the world around him.
"Hold your ground!" he shouted—yet his voice sounded distant, muffled, drowned by the violence in the air.
