Despite the mounting chaos beyond the hospital's walls, Rawiya Rashed remained unnervingly calm, her heartbeat controlled even as distant explosions thudded like war drums. At just twenty-six, the young nurse had already faced death in many forms, disease, trauma, grief, but nothing had prepared her for the shrieking void that tore open above Riyadh's skyline. The dimensional rift shimmered like torn glass in the heavens, a sickly purple gash that poured twisted creatures into the world below. The goblins had come first.
Small, fast, and vicious, they weren't just nuisances, they were predators. Child-sized in body but ancient in cruelty, they scurried through vents, ceilings, and broken walls, giggling in high-pitched chattering tones that echoed in Rawiya's bones.
She had been in the middle of administering a sedative to a six-year-old girl when the sirens howled, their wailing overlapping with the rising screams from the emergency wing. Most of the hospital staff had fled, but Rawiya stayed. Not because she was brave, but because she knew if she didn't, no one would protect the eighteen terminally and critically ill children who could barely lift their heads, let alone run. Drawing from her medical training and years growing up under the protective eye of a diplomat father, she moved with clinical precision. Within twenty minutes, she had sealed the pediatric ward.
Curtains closed, lights dimmed, the children sedated, monitored, and hidden. Every entrance was blocked with overturned furniture, gurneys, and anything heavy they could find. The remaining nurses and aides, twenty-four in total, were terrified, but Rawiya led them like a commander in warwhispers sharp, orders clear, no time for panic.
Then came the scratching.
It started as light taps in the ceiling, a skittering like rats—but far too deliberate. The goblins didn't barge through the door. They dripped through cracks in the tiles, claws and eyes first, their foul breath curling like ammonia in the air. Rawiya had never used a firearm until that night. But her father Caleb, always suspicious of foreign soil and hidden threats, had taken no chances with his daughter's safety. Every weapon he had smuggled into their estate Glock 19s, MP7s, even a compact Uzi had suppressors. It wasn't paranoia anymore; it was salvation.
When the first goblin dropped into the hallway outside the pediatric ward, Rawiya didn't flinch. She raised her suppressed Glock and pulled the trigger. The goblin's head jerked back with a wet hiss, and it collapsed. But more came, dozens, hunting in packs. Rawiya tossed a glance at one of the nurses cowering behind the reception desk. "Stay quiet. If they smell fear, they'll come faster."
She moved like a shadow through the hall, bullets hissing softly with every shot, her aim clean and deadly. When one of the goblins lunged from a vent and sank its jagged teeth into a medical aide's leg, Rawiya didn't hesitate she shot it off and carried the injured man herself, one arm firing, the other dragging him to safety.
Outside, the sky had turned black-red. A low rumble told her that a Gehenna wolf a dimensional predator the size of a lion with glowing red eyes was near. Ramiel's strike force had deployed in the city, but their presence was erratic. Inside the hospital, no military backup had come. She was the highest authority, the first and last line of defense.
By midnight, the entire west wing had been overrun. Goblins climbed on walls like insects, leaping across operating rooms and ripping IV bags apart for fun. Rawiya, along with three other aides she taught to reload, took turns guarding the hallway outside the pediatric ward. Every few minutes, they'd switch to prevent exhaustion. They had one hour of oxygen left for the sedated children if the power failed.
A heavy bang shook the hallway as something large slammed into the barricaded door.
Rawiya's grip tightened. "Not goblins," she muttered.
It wasn't. A goblin-chimera hybrid—a fusion creature that looked like three of them melted into one mass slammed its deformed body against the doors, screeching with hunger. The other aides panicked, but Rawiya threw her satchel to the floor, dug out a flash grenade Caleb had trained her to use, and waited. When the chimera breached the final lock, she yanked the pin and threw it with surgical precision into its open maw. The light exploded in a white-hot burst, and she followed it up with three suppressed rounds to its swollen head.
Boom. Collapse. Silence.
By 4 a.m., only five of the medical staff remained uninjured. Rawiya had lost two aides to surprise attacks and a third who tried to make a run for the emergency stairwell. She mourned each one silently while tending to the children. Blood stained her uniform, but her hands never shook.
At dawn, the rift above Riyadh began to close. Government drones broadcasted messages of relief containment achieved, reinforcements en route. But Rawiya didn't relax until the armored doors of the ward opened and Ramiel's soldiers stepped inside, sweeping their rifles through the corridor.
"Is everyone alive?" asked the squad leader.
Rawiya stood tall, her hair matted with sweat, one arm still wrapped in gauze from a goblin's scratch. "Eighteen children. Five staff. No one's touching them."
The soldier stared at her. "You're just a nurse?"
"I'm Rawiya Rashed," she said, finally allowing herself to breathe. "And this is my hospital."
The soldiers moved quickly, setting up heavy weapon placements in the ruined hallways. But Rawiya wasn't about to leave her patients. When one of the sergeants ordered her to evacuate, she simply shook her head.
"My duty is here. You go fight your war, I'll fight mine."
The commander wanted to argue, but a low, guttural howl split the silence, making even the seasoned soldiers stiffen. More monsters poured into the building, not with the hunger-driven fury of before, but with erratic movements—as if something far more powerful had driven them forward, forcing them like cattle toward slaughter. Their shrieks echoed down the corridors, but there was no confidence in their cries, only terror.
The soldiers exchanged wary glances. They knew why.
Their king was coming.
And every creature that crawled out of the rift feared the shadow of his approach.
The monsters came in waves, their twisted bodies spilling over broken walls and shattered windows, but something was different now. Their howls carried not bloodlust, but dread. Even the goblins—those cruel things that once mocked with their high-pitched giggles—hissed in panic, clawing at the walls as though desperate to escape an unseen predator. Rawiya's sharp eyes caught the shift first.
"They're afraid," she whispered.
The soldiers stiffened. One of them, a veteran with a scar carved across his cheek, answered in a low voice, "Not afraid of us, nurse. Afraid of him."
Before Rawiya could ask who, the hallway shook under the weight of an unseen power. The air itself seemed to bow, pressing down on the chest like invisible hands. And then he arrived.
Ramiel.
He did not enter like a savior draped in light. He came like a storm given form—armor blackened by fire, his cloak torn by countless wars, eyes glowing with the faintest trace of gold. His mere presence silenced the clamor of battle for a heartbeat. Goblins shrieked and scattered into the shadows, as if the sight of him burned. The larger beasts froze, trembling, torn between obeying the dimensional hunger that had driven them and the terror of something far greater standing before them.
The soldiers snapped to attention at once, some kneeling briefly as though their bodies bowed on instinct. They called him their king. And in that moment, Rawiya understood why.
She watched as he studied the chaos with calm detachment. He didn't bark orders, nor did he lift his hand to command. Instead, he spoke in a voice quiet but undeniable:
"Use what you know. Fight as you were born to fight."
It was a command unlike any she had heard from generals or commanders. And the soldiers obeyed. Unlike the military men Rawiya had expected, many of them were not clad in rifles and grenades, but in the comfort of their own weapons—massive cleavers, long spears, even curved sabers glowing faintly with inscriptions. One soldier hefted a warhammer that hummed with low thunder. Another twirled a staff etched in silver runes. These were warriors who chose weapons that resonated with them, not ones assigned by an armory.
Yet even with their blades and grit, the sheer number of monsters pouring from the rift threatened to overwhelm.
That was when Ramiel moved.
Rawiya saw it—the sudden blur of motion, faster than her eyes could follow. He flowed like water, like a martial artist refined by endless centuries of battle. His fists cracked skulls, his knees shattered ribs, his every movement both brutal and precise. But it was not only his body that struck—it was his magic.
Circles of glowing runes flared into existence around him, an automatic spell attack system that operated in perfect synchrony with his strikes. With every step he took, fire erupted in controlled bursts, spears of ice jutted from the ground, arcs of lightning whipped through the air. He needed no chants, no preparation; the spells activated as though they were part of his heartbeat.
A goblin-chimera lunged, its screech echoing through the corridor. Ramiel didn't even look at it. His elbow broke its jaw, and before its deformed body hit the floor, three orbs of searing flame detonated around it, reducing it to ash.
The Hell Knight at his side—towering, clad in armor carved with infernal runes—swept through the ranks of monsters with a greatsword that burned with violet fire. Together, they carved a path of annihilation. Monsters that had once terrorized the hospital staff were eradicated in minutes, their screams drowned beneath the clash of steel and the roar of magic.
Rawiya, her Glock still firm in hand, stood frozen at the edge of the ward's barricade. She had fought, she had killed, she had protected—but nothing could have prepared her for this. Watching Ramiel was like watching a god stride through mortal war, untouchable and unstoppable. His presence demanded silence, reverence, fear—and yet, strangely, she felt none of those. What stirred in her chest was something more dangerous.
Hope.
But as his soldiers pressed forward and the monsters continued to fall back, Rawiya noticed something else. The rift had not yet fully closed. The creatures were not just afraid of Ramiel—they were being driven back by something still lurking in the void beyond, something that even their king might have to face.
And as Ramiel's golden eyes flicked briefly toward the rift, Rawiya knew he felt it too.
The rift pulsed one final time, and the air grew sharp and cold, as though the world itself recoiled from what was about to emerge. The creatures that had flooded the hospital, goblins, hybrids, malformed chimeras, screeched in terror, scattering not toward humans but away from the source of their own kind. Rawiya's heart clenched as she felt the pressure mount, every breath catching in her lungs.
Then the Arch Noble vampire came.
It was not a solitary figure but a vanguard of its race, tall, slender, with limbs too long and faces too pale, their crimson eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. They moved with elegance and violence entwined, like dancers on a stage of carnage. The first one landed upon the ruined avenue outside the hospital, the impact cracking the pavement. Its shriek was shrill enough to shatter glass, and immediately, the weaker monsters cowered, folding into shadows.
Ramiel showed no hesitation. He advanced through the broken doors of the hospital like a tide breaking against the shore, the light of his runes swirling around him. His gaze fixed on the vampire, his voice cold and unyielding.
"You crave blood. You find joy in slaughter. Tonight, you will find only death."
The vampire lunged, and the battle exploded.
Ramiel met its speed with his own, martial precision fused with the seamless flow of his automatic spell system. His fist struck with the force of thunder, his leg whipped in a roundhouse that cracked bone, while flame-wreathed glyphs detonated around the vampire in brilliant succession. It screeched, its claws raking across his armor, but no strike found purchase deep enough. Every exchange became a storm of fire and shadow, magic and hunger colliding in a blur too fast for the untrained eye to follow.
Yet the vampires were not alone. More poured from the rift, dozens, then hundreds, spreading across Riyadh's streets in a tide of fangs and wings. The Ethereal Guilds, who had been holding the outer perimeter, engaged with desperate valor. Their formations broke under the sheer weight of numbers, mages struggling to cast as vampires shredded their frontlines, swordsmen dragged screaming into the dark. They were overwhelmed, their banners torn, their leaders calling for aid.
Ramiel did not falter. His orders were precise, delivered with the sharp certainty of a king who knew every piece on the battlefield belonged to him.
"Demon Spiders, hunt. Feast to your hearts' content."
At his command, colossal arachnids with carapaces like black steel surged from the shadows. Their legs struck the earth like spears, impaling, binding, cocooning. Goblins shrieked as webs as strong as steel wrapped around them, dragged screaming into the darkness. Vampires found themselves entangled mid-lunge, their wings shredded, their bodies crushed beneath monstrous mandibles.
"Gehenna Wolves tear the enemies apart."
The wolves answered with a unified howl that made the very air tremble. Each beast was the size of a lion, eyes glowing like embers, fangs dripping fire. They leapt through the city streets with feral grace, tearing vampires from rooftops, dragging them down in packs, their howls mixing with the thunder of distant explosions.
In the midst of it, Beta's voice carried into Ramiel's mind, calm yet urgent, delivering reports from across the globe.
"My King, the rifts are active worldwide. Multiple sectors collapsing. Homunculi deployment in progress, three hundred thousand spread equally across Hell Knight commanders. Civilians secured. Resistance stiff in Northern Europe, the Americas, and Eastern Asia. But the pattern remains: the vampires are the spearhead. They seek blood, not conquest."
Ramiel's golden eyes narrowed. He understood. This was not random slaughter, it was invasion through hunger, a plague that would devour the world if unchecked.
Around him, his Hell Knights fought like executioners blessed by fire. Each moved with precision and brutality, their infernal runes igniting as they cut through the enemy ranks. They did not waste motion; every strike was clean, every defense timed to perfection. To make their king proud was their only law, their only creed. And they delivered, carving lines of death through the waves of monsters.
Above, the sky still flickered with remnants of the rift, painting Riyadh in unholy violet light. Streets once filled with life now burned, bodies and rubble scattered. Yet Rawiya, standing behind the barricade of her ward, felt something she had not felt since the world began to fall apart.
She saw order amidst chaos. She saw a man who moved like destiny itself. She saw a king who would not bend, not to monsters, not to gods.
And as Ramiel hurled the vampire's broken body into the ground, his runes igniting once more in a spiral of fire and lightning, Rawiya whispered to herself, though no one heard it but her.
"He is not here to save us. He is here to conquer the night itself."