The sky wept violet fire.
From the jagged wound torn through the heavens, the first beasts dropped like meteorites—hulking silhouettes of dread that crashed into the Academy grounds with deafening impact. Towers trembled. The stone-paved courtyards cracked. Screams echoed off once-hallowed walls.
The creatures were grotesque fusions of magic and metallurgy—flesh grafted with iron, sinew woven with arcane circuitry that pulsed like veins. Black-armored beasts snorted steam as they stalked through the flame-lit campus, eyes blazing with war-sigils etched in bloodlight.
And still, they came.
The rift expanded, its circumference spiraling outward with a low, keening hum. Through it marched the pride of Veyruun—the kingdom of dominion, born beyond the Obsidian Sea. Every soldier was clad in armor hewn from deep-furnace ore, augmented by forbidden rites. Draconic constructs glided above them, wings cracking with energy, and behind them came the true horror: towering abominations of bone and obsidian, summoned from the Kingdom's God-Smiths and Soul Forges.
Chaos. Total. Unrelenting.
The ancient wards of the Academy groaned as they flared to life, blue runes spinning across the campus perimeter. They strained under the weight of the assault. A few held. Others shattered like glass.
A command was barked into the heart of the madness—a voice forged from steel, calm against the storm.
"Hold the line! Arcane shield array: pattern nine. Do not let them breach the second tier!"
Commander Elric rose above the battlefield, cloak fluttering like a standard in the wind, silver eyes narrowed. Runes blazed down his gauntlets and vambraces as he channeled structured magic through his body.
Where the beasts came with fury, he answered with precision.
One hand drew a sigil in the air—sharp, geometric. A circle snapped into place around a Veyruun hound-beast as it lunged toward the inner dorms. The beast hit the circle and ignited into blue flame, combusting mid-leap.
Another construct tried to flank his rear. Elric turned and cast a forbidden rune of spatial fracture. The air behind him cracked like glass, folding the beast in half with a bone-splintering shriek.
But his gaze didn't stay grounded for long.
High above, something moved in the rift.
A massive shape. A leviathan-class construct, its body plated in celestial-black alloy, wings ablaze with soulfire. A juggernaut of destruction. Its roar shattered the clouds.
Elric didn't hesitate.
He launched himself skyward with an arcane burst, trailing radiant sigils behind him like falling stars.
"Form Seven. Oath of Binding," he whispered—and drew his blade.
The sword burned white with ancient power as he met the leviathan mid-air, clashing steel against claw. The heavens thundered.
Below, chaos reigned.
The Imperial Arcane Division was already in motion. Units had scrambled into defensive formations across the academy grounds.
—Captain Mirell Vonn, clad in layered plate with her staff glowing green, stood atop the eastern balcony, casting reinforced shields over the students retreating toward the chapel. With a flick of her wrist, she turned an entire section of broken debris into levitating barricades.
—Lieutenant Renek Solas, dual-wielding enchanted glaives, danced through three Veyruun warriors. Each strike was surgical, each step a blur. "For the Empire!" he roared, impaling one of the creatures through its plated skull.
—Mage-Sentinel Eira Darrin, hair woven with red wards, gritted her teeth as she traced incantations mid-run. She whispered into her relay crystal, "Deploy the Tempest Array near the western wall! We're getting overrun!"
She didn't wait for confirmation—just turned and unleashed a bolt of lightning into a beast's mouth as it charged.
And still, more poured from the sky.
The creatures weren't just fighting—they were hunting. Targeting the mages first. Sabotaging wards. Sensing structure and seeking to undo it.
As the ground shuddered from another landing, Sergeant Hal Bren, barely out of recovery from the northern garrison, charged a war beast with a grim smile. "Can't die before I get my pension, bastards!"
The Academy's gardens were on fire.
Tents, supply carts, magical training pillars—all turned to wreckage.
A draconic construct swooped toward the alchemy labs—until three sky-knights in gleaming phoenix armor intercepted it midair, dive-bombing it with anti-magic lances that exploded in contact. Smoke burst like black petals.
But it wasn't enough.
The tide kept coming.
Above them, the rift pulsed again, wider.
A second leviathan began to crawl through.
Commander Elric, locked mid-air with the first beast, bled from the corners of his eyes as he activated a forbidden technique—his very life force pouring into his blade. The air bent around him. The stars dimmed.
He spoke to no one in particular—only the war.
"Not this time."
And he struck.
Back in the corridor, the ground shook beneath Cael's boots.
Smoke curled from shattered windows. Screams rang like sirens through the air, distant but persistent, coming from every corner of the Academy. A part of Cael—some numb, cold shard deep within—knew what this was. He'd seen it before. Not exactly like this, but close enough.
It was the beginning of the end.
He stood frozen in the corridor above the western halls, marble tiles cracked beneath his heels. The sky was a bleeding wound outside, spilling monstrosities into their world. War had arrived ahead of schedule.
Kaelith stood beside him, her fingers clutching his arm, golden eyes flicking toward the flashing sigils embedded into the walls—the emergency mana signals pulsing like veins.
"That pulse…" she whispered, her voice sharper than panic, more analytical. "It's an evacuation drill signal—tuned to the northern escape tunnels."
Cael blinked, mind slowly catching up. "Right… the evacuation drills…"
He turned to her, jaw tense. "We move. Now."
Kaelith's eyes gleamed. Her cheeks flushed, a deep rose blooming beneath the grime of smoke. "Darling, the way you take charge… it's intoxicating."
He didn't have the time—or clarity—for her obsessions. He grabbed her hand firmly, pulling her into a sprint. Together, they began darting down the corridor, ducking under splintered archways and dodging ruptures in the floor where flame had burst through from the levels below.
They made it nearly halfway to the north wing when the ceiling exploded.
A monstrous form smashed through three floors above and crashed into the ground ahead, scattering debris like shrapnel. Dust billowed. Sparks shot from torn arcane conduits.
The beast stood—a hulking, doglike war construct, its metal hide steaming, its eyes dripping molten red. It growled low, scanning for prey.
Cael halted, breath sharp, body coiled.
System?
No ping. Not yet. Not here.
His fingers twitched toward his spell-hilt, calculating spells and exits—but Kaelith stepped in front of him.
"Don't you dare lay a finger on him," she hissed.
She spun, planting her boots, and summoned a weapon from her spatial ring. It was massive—an obsidian cleaver with a glowing, cursed edge, nearly as long as she was tall. The mana pulsing from it distorted the air.
The beast snarled. Kaelith snarled back.
Cael's mouth opened to stop her—
But a flash of silver-and-red streaked past them.
A barrier rune flared midair, crashing down between the beast and Kaelith like a falling wall.
And from behind it strode Instructor Gahrel.
Still broad-shouldered, armored in reinforced martial robes, his coat torn at the sleeves and eyes burning with calm fury. In one hand he held his signature blade—blunt-edged, designed not to kill, but to teach. Today, though, it gleamed with real intent.
Behind him, more figures emerged from the corridor smoke.
Leon Thorne, cloak burned at the edges, sword drawn, eyes scanning everything.Arven Vale, cloak pristine despite the chaos, the black thread Cael once sensed now coiled tighter around him, like fate was holding its breath.
And more students. Not soldiers. Not heroes. But survivors.
The beast reared back, engine-heart pulsing like a drumbeat of war. It roared—metal grinding, a guttural blast that cracked the tiles beneath it. Its claws sparked as they flexed against stone.
Instructor Gahrel didn't flinch. He took a single step forward.
His blade—dull no longer—shone with condensed spell-light, etched runes flaring along its spine. He twirled it once, then planted his foot hard. The stone cracked.
"MOVE!" he barked. His voice, normally gruff with measured patience, cracked like thunder through the chaos. "Get to the north wing! Follow the evac tunnels!"
He met the beast's charge with a bellow of his own, a rune-inscribed fist striking the ground. A gravity well bloomed beneath the war construct, slowing its momentum—but not stopping it.
They collided with a sound like collapsing steel. Gahrel's blade locked against the beast's forelimb, the impact sending quakes through the hall. Sparks flew. A gout of flame burst from the beast's chest, but Gahrel twisted, absorbing the heat with a reinforced ward woven into his robes.
"Thorne!" he shouted without looking. "Lead them out! Keep formation!"
Leon nodded sharply. "You heard him! We go! Cael and the girl—you're with us!"
The ground cracked again as the beast lunged with its other claw. Gahrel caught it with his forearm guard, the metal screeching, then retaliated—blade driving upward into the joint of the thing's leg. The construct staggered, but didn't fall.
Behind them, chaos churned.
Students stumbled to obey. Smoke rolled overhead, choked with magical discharge.
But not all moved.
"No!" a voice rang out—furious, trembling.
A girl stepped forward—Tana Erel, wiry, short, her silver braid whipped by the wind of battle. Her eyes burned with lightning, the crackle of her storm-soul igniting as sigils climbed her arms. "I'm not running! I can help him!"
"You'll die!" Irene snapped, grabbing her wrist. "You're not ready!"
"I am ready!"
Another tremor rocked the floor. The construct twisted, throwing Gahrel back several steps—only for the instructor to slam his blade down and steady himself with a grunt. Blood dripped from his brow, but his stance held.
"Miss Erel," Gahrel called over his shoulder—calm, firm, commanding. "Your job is to survive. Let me do mine."
Tana froze, fury trembling in her clenched fists.
Cael was already moving, ushering Kaelith and others down the corridor. Leon led point, Arven and Derric holding the flanks.
Cael's hand hovered near his system trigger.
One command… and the beast would die. He could end this. Right now. He could save Gahrel. Save all of them.
But they were watching. Too many eyes.
Too many questions.
He bit down on the urge, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
And nodded.
Behind them, the corridor groaned. The air was thick with power and smoke.Another impact shook the world as Gahrel and the beast clashed once more, a dance of might and fury in a hall of war.