The first light of dawn barely pierced the thick mist that hung over the estate, but already the sound of movement stirred the air. From the east, the Sanctum's forces approached like a tide of darkness, black banners snapping sharply in the cold wind. Their armor glinted faintly, a sinister sheen under the pale sun, and their formation was precise, disciplined—the kind that came from centuries of ruthless training.
Rayon stood atop the outer wall, cloak whipping around him, eyes narrowed. "They're more organized than the reports suggested. Not just scouts—they're here to burn everything."
Cairo's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, the edge catching the first rays of light. "Then we give them a welcome they'll never forget."
Severin emerged from the shadows of the courtyard, his presence alone bending the air around him. "Let them come," he murmured. "The Obsidian Web doesn't kneel, and it doesn't bleed quietly."
The first wave hit like a storm. Shadows lunged from the mist, swords slashing, daggers flickering in their hands, and screams tore through the quiet morning. But the Web's defenses were already in motion.
From the walls, archers loosed a storm of arrows, each one guided by Cairo's precise calculations. Beneath the battlements, traps snapped shut and pits swallowed the unwary, their screams swallowed by the chaos. Rayon moved like a shadow himself, weaving through the enemy ranks, his blades an extension of his will. Each strike was deliberate, lethal—he carved a path through the invaders with surgical precision.
Severin had not even raised his dagger before the air around him began to hum and distort. A wave of force erupted from his position, sending enemy soldiers flying as though caught in a vortex. His laughter was cold, sharp, and utterly devoid of mercy. "This… is just the beginning," he said.
Despite the overwhelming force of the Sanctum, the defenders held, their coordination near flawless. Every attack was countered, every advance stalled. The Web's territory was small, but their opponents' discipline was matched by raw skill, cunning, and a relentless determination to survive.
Yet, even amidst the chaos, the Sanctum revealed why they were feared. Hidden mages twisted shadows into living blades, striking from blind angles. Silent assassins darted through walls of smoke, their poisoned daggers seeking vital arteries. The battlefield became a blur of motion, steel, and arcane energy, a deadly dance with no room for hesitation.
Rayon caught sight of a formation breaking through the southern gate. "Cairo! Severin! The southern wall—they've split their forces!"
Cairo's eyes narrowed, scanning the advancing line. "Then we split them right back. Hold the center—I'll take the south with the sharpshooters. Severin… cover the west."
Severin's grin widened, predatory. "With pleasure. Let's see how the Sanctum fares when their perfect plan meets real chaos."
As the first major clash erupted, it became clear that the Sanctum had underestimated the Web. These were no mere soldiers—they were warriors who thrived in adversity, who anticipated every move and turned the enemy's own momentum against them. And at the heart of it, Rayon, Cairo, and Severin were a force unlike any the Sanctum had faced in decades.
Blood spilled, screams echoed, and steel rang against steel—but in the eyes of the defenders, a single thought burned bright: the Obsidian Web would not fall today.