The war horn's cry was a beautiful, savage thing, a promise of salvation that sliced through the roar of Voss's charging army. For a single, stunned heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze. The tide of soldiers faltered, their heads turning in confusion toward the sound echoing from their rear.
Draven's mind, however, did not freeze. In that single, precious second, he saw the entire battle laid out before him, a perfect tactical schematic. Voss's army was no longer a fist aimed at his gate; it was a disorganized mob caught between two forces. It was a classic pincer movement. The Hammer and the Anvil.
A surge of pure, cold adrenaline, sharper than any potion, flooded his system. The exhaustion of the past four days vanished, burned away by the fires of imminent, absolute victory.
"Kara!" he roared, his voice a blade of pure command. "Back to the control room! Give me a real-time tactical view of the entire field! On my signal, and not a second before, you drop the main gate shield!"
She didn't question him. She was already moving, a blur of motion as she raced back toward the central spire.
On the tactical scanner in Draven's mind, the wave of green, allied icons was crashing into the rear of Voss's formation. Jaxon was the tip of the spear. He was riding a massive, summoned war-beast that looked like a cross between a bear and a scorpion, a terrifying creature of chitin and fury. At his side were Rico and Leo, leading a small but determined force of their own men, armed with the best gear from the keep's armory.
The Hammer had struck.
Jaxon's charge was a force of nature, a thunderous crash of steel and rage that shattered Voss's rear guard. The warlord's army, caught completely by surprise, was thrown into chaos. The soldiers at the back turned to face the new threat, while the ones at the front were still mindlessly pushing forward toward the outpost's gate. The entire army became a compressed, panicked mass of confusion and terror.
Draven stood on the parapet, a silent, unmoving god of war, and watched the chaos unfold. He waited. He let the pressure build. He watched as Voss's own men began to trample each other in their desperation.
"We are the Anvil," he murmured to Kael at his side. "We hold. We endure. And at the moment of maximum pressure, we strike."
He watched the tactical display from Kara, a perfect, top-down view of the battlefield. He saw the enemy's formation buckle, their lines break, their command structure collapse into a screaming mob. The moment was perfect.
"Now, Kara!" he commanded through the System. "Drop the shield!"
The blue ward over the main gate vanished. But this was not a defensive move. This was the final, killing blow.
"All units!" Draven's voice was a roar that echoed across the courtyard. "Charge!"
He was the first one over the wall, a blur of motion, his axe a whirlwind of destruction. The ten remaining Stone Golem sentries lumbered forward, an unstoppable wall of fists and fury. Kael and the Rune-Hound were a two-headed wolf pack that tore into the enemy's flank, a storm of fangs and claws.
Voss's soldiers, who had been charging a wall, now found that the wall was charging them. The surprise was absolute. Their morale shattered. They were trapped, crushed between Jaxon's relentless hammer and Draven's unyielding anvil.
The battle for the valley devolved into a brutal, one-sided slaughter. Draven moved through the chaos, his mind a cold, clear instrument of death. He was not a single warrior; he was a battlefield commander, directing his assets with a flawless, terrifying precision. He saw Voss, a tower of black iron and fury, trying to rally his men.
Draven charged him. The clash of their weapons was a thunderclap. Voss was stronger, but Draven was faster, his movements a blur of calculated strikes and parries. He couldn't defeat the warlord in a straight fight, but he didn't have to. He just had to hold him.
From the spire, Kara's arrows were a rain of silent, precise death, picking off Voss's lieutenants, sowing chaos in his command structure. From the rear, Jaxon's war-beast was a living siege engine, its massive claws tossing men aside like dolls.
Voss was no fool. He saw the battle was lost. With a final, enraged roar, he broke from his engagement with Draven and, with a small handful of his most elite guards, began to fight his way out of the meat grinder. Draven let him go. Capturing the warlord was a secondary objective. The primary objective was the complete and utter annihilation of his army.
By the time the sun began to set, the battle was over. The valley was a silent, grim testament to their victory. Voss's army was broken, the survivors scattering into the mountains, a disorganized rabble with no leader and no will to fight. The siege was lifted.
Draven stood in the bloody, silent courtyard, his body a single, screaming ache. He looked up to see Jaxon, his face split by a wide, weary, triumphant grin, dismounting from his war-beast. The two halves of their small, defiant faction were finally reunited.
[Primary Objective Complete: Survive the Siege]
[World Quest Update: The Rift-Breeder]
[New Objective: Hunt down the remnants of Voss's forces and locate Malik Voss.]
They had done it. They had survived. They had won. And in the quiet aftermath of the storm, surrounded by the family he had forged, Draven knew, with an unshakeable certainty, that this was only the beginning.