The abomination's rampage continued through Stoneford's southern district, each passing moment bringing fresh destruction as Captain Hendricks and his elite guard fought to contain the nightmare.

  Hendricks' spear deflected another massive blow, the impact jarring his arms as he backpedaled toward the wall. His men moved with him in coordinated retreat, weapons flashing as they kept the creature's attention fixed on their formation. The positioning was perfect—the behemoth stood directly in line with the mural tower's battlements, exactly where it needed to be.

  Yet even as his body moved through practiced combat motions, doubt gnawed at Hendricks' mind. The siege crossbow required specialized knowledge to operate. Mounting it inward means breaking it's base, not to say, achieving proper aim, compensating for the changed angle—these weren't simple tasks. And that unknown soldier on the tower... could he truly accomplish all of this?

  Hendricks' jaw tightened as his spear punched into corrupted flesh, black ichor spraying across his boots. Even if the bolt struck true, would it be enough? The creature's regeneration was monstrous.

  Light protect us, he thought grimly, driving forward again. Let this work.

  Above, on the battlement, Alph's muscles screamed as he finally wrenched the crossbow free from its base. The heavy frame groaned in his grip as he lifted it, pivoting to reposition the weapon toward the town side of the battlements.

  The old soldier emerged from the storage alcove, struggling under the weight of four massive bolts. Each projectile was the length of half a man, iron-tipped and designed to punch through siege equipment. He froze mid-step, eyes widening as he watched Alph maneuver the crossbow—a weapon that weighed as much as two fully armored soldiers—with visible strain but undeniable success.

  The soldier's throat worked as he swallowed his shock, forcing himself forward. "Here's the bolts, lad," he said, setting them down with a heavy thud.

  As Alph began settling the crossbow into position, the soldier's gaze drifted toward the burning district below. The abomination's massive form was clearly visible, even from this height. He looked back at Alph, apprehension creeping into his voice.

  "Can you hit it?"

  Alph didn't respond, his focus consumed by the calculations racing through his mind. Weight distribution, wind shear, trajectory drop—each variable demanded precision. His hands worked methodically, bracing the crossbow against the stone battlements to create a stable firing platform.

  Even with a clear shot, doubt lingered. The bolt would need to pierce through layers of corrupted flesh and blight that had already deflected conventional weapons. The creature's defensive tentacles could intercept the projectile before impact. Too many variables, too many ways this could fail.

  The sharp blare of a horn cut through the district's chaos, announcing the garrison's arrival.

  Movement caught Alph's peripheral vision—an orange blur streaking through the burning streets with impossible speed. A mounted rider, weaving between debris and collapsed structures with the kind of controlled recklessness that spoke of either desperation or exceptional skill. The trajectory led directly toward the abomination.

  Alph's eyes narrowed, tracking the rider's approach. Same direction as the horn signal. Likely an ally, then.

  Please be Tier 3 at minimum, he thought, hands already reaching for the first bolt. Someone who can actually hurt that thing.

  The orange blur resolved into clarity as its rider launched himself from the saddle, war hammer already rising overhead. The weapon descended with devastating force, catching the behemoth's turning head square in the jaw.

  BANG!

  The impact sent a visible shockwave rippling outward. Soldiers nearest the collision staggered backward, boots scraping against cobblestones as they fought to keep their footing. The abomination recoiled, massive feet gouging the street as it staggered two full steps back. Its jaw hung at an unnatural angle, bone and corrupted flesh cratered inward from the blow.

  The attacker landed hard, dropping to one knee with his war hammer braced for support. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the exertion of whatever sprint had brought him here clearly taking its toll.

  Justiciar Rhoghar had arrived.

  Behind him, his mount collapsed onto the scorched cobblestones. The horse gave a final, shuddering sigh, its great heart giving out after the impossible, magic-fueled sprint. Rhoghar spared a single, grim glance for his fallen mount, a silent thanks for its sacrifice, before turning his full attention to the monster.

  Hendricks' eyes widened in recognition, relief flooding his features. The elite guards rallied, their movements gaining fresh purpose now that genuine reinforcement had arrived.

  Hendricks closed the distance to Rhoghar in quick strides, his words clipped and urgent. "Siege bolt from the tower—clear shot if we hold it here. But the blight regenerates too fast. We plan to dousing it in oil first, lighting it up to burn through that corruption before the bolt strikes."

  Rhoghar rose to his feet, drawing a steadying breath as his grip tightened around the war hammer's shaft. His eyes never left the abomination, assessing the threat even as his mind processed Hendricks' rushed explanation.

  Tier 3 peak, minimum. Mindless, operating on pure instinct and corruption. Dangerous, but predictable. The blight coating, however—that was the real problem.

  "Regular flame won't hold back that corruption," Rhoghar said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It'll smother conventional fire before it can do real damage."

  Hendricks' expression darkened, hope draining from his features.

  "But holy fire will burn it clean," Rhoghar continued, rolling his shoulders as divine energy began to kindle in his chest. "Douse it. I'll provide the ignition."

  Relief sparked in Hendricks' eyes. He spun toward his men, voice cracking like a whip across the chaos.

  "Oil! Now! Drench the bastard!"

  Guards rushed forward, hurling clay vats at the abomination. The containers shattered against corrupted flesh, oil cascading down its massive frame in glistening streams. The creature's jaw had already reformed, bone and tissue knitting back together with unnatural speed. The blight worked like living mortar, filling gaps and restoring structure.

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  The behemoth's red eyes fixed on Rhoghar with singular focus. Every instinct in its warped consciousness recognized him as the greatest threat.

  Its massive arm rose, then plummeted downward with speed that defied its bulk.

  Rhoghar's response was immediate—a backstep that carried him clear of the crushing blow. Stone cracked where the fist struck, but he was already moving, boots finding purchase as he launched himself toward the creature's exposed flank. His war hammer shifted to a horizontal grip, braced across his body.

  The weapon slammed into the behemoth's chest with brutal force. The impact made it stagger, oil sloshing across its torso.

  Rhoghar didn't pause. He spun the hammer in a tight horizontal arc, momentum building. The second strike crashed into the same spot with devastating precision, caving the chest inward. Ribs cracked audibly beneath the blight's coating.

  'Sundering Arc' was executed with perfection.

  Rhoghar released his left hand from the hammer's shaft, arm snapping upward as he activated Javelin of Dawn. Light coalesced above his palm, forming a brilliant spear that hummed with holy power. He hurled it at the creature's caved chest without hesitation.

  The javelin struck true—and immediately began to hiss. The blight writhed where the light touched, steam rising as holy energy met corruption. The spear melted through the outer layer, exposing raw hide beneath, but the erosion worked both ways. The blight consumed the javelin's power before it could penetrate deeper, the weapon dissipating into fading motes of light.

  The behemoth recoiled anyway, a guttural sound tearing from its throat despite the lack of actual injury. Pain response without damage—pure instinct to the holy energy's touch.

  Rhoghar's eyes narrowed to slits. The blight was more resilient than he'd anticipated, actively devouring divine power rather than simply burning away.

  Movement exploded in his peripheral vision. The creature's massive arm was already descending.

  Rhoghar threw himself sideways, boots skidding across oil-slicked cobblestones as the blow hammered down where he'd stood a heartbeat before.

  "Light it up!" Hendricks' command rang across the burning district.

  Rhoghar didn't hesitate. He broke away from the behemoth, boots pounding against cobblestones as he created distance. His eyes swept the battlefield in quick assessment—guards pulling back, civilians already clear, the creature standing isolated in its oil-soaked fury.

  Good enough.

  He drove his war hammer down vertically, the weapon standing firm as he released it. Both hands came together before his chest in prayer position, fingers interlacing as divine energy began to build.

  "Grant me your cleansing flame, Lord of Dawn," Rhoghar murmured, the words more focus than plea.

  "Dawn Fire!"

  Golden flames sparked between his palms as he separated them, the fire growing as he drew his hands apart. The divine blaze swelled, fed by faith and mana, until it filled the space between his outstretched arms with brilliant radiance.

  He watched the flame's size for a heartbeat longer—sufficient mass to engulf the target completely.

  Rhoghar thrust both hands forward, hurling the Dawn Fire toward the oil-drenched abomination.

  On top of the battlements...

  Alph watched the newcomer's hammer strikes cave the creature's chest with brutal efficiency. Yet within seconds, the damage sealed itself, flesh knitting back together beneath the writhing blight. His grip tightened on the crossbow frame.

  The soldiers' oil containers burst upon tainted flesh. Then the radiant lance struck—observing it burn through the corruption's surface brought clarity flooding into Alph's thoughts. Sacred power could penetrate the barrier, however momentarily.

  He loaded the massive bolt onto the crossbow, muscles straining as he settled it into the firing groove.

  The paladin retreated, hands coming together. Golden fire bloomed between his palms before hurtling toward the oil-soaked behemoth.

  Now.

  Alph's breathing slowed, falling into the rhythm he'd drilled endlessly over recent days. Perfect Aim flooded through him, sharpening every sense.

  The monster thrashed as Dawn Fire engulfed it, blight receding visibly from the onslaught—but the flames were already beginning to fade.

  He sighted down the bolt's length, finger finding the trigger mechanism.

  Then something stirred deep inside him. A ghostly feeling, recognizable yet surprising. His awareness faltered. The far-off creature grew hazy at the periphery of his sight.

  Alph's mind screamed the reality—one shot. That was all he'd get before his consciousness slipped away entirely.

  He poured everything into it. Willpower surged down his arms, flooding through the crossbow, channeling into the bolt itself. The iron tip gleamed with a crimson tinge, visible only to those who understood what it meant when intent took physical form.

  His vision swam. The monster below flickered in and out of focus. Alph made his final adjustments through sheer muscle memory, trusting training more than failing sight.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  TWANG!

  The behemoth thrashed within golden flames, blight stripped away to expose raw hide. Where the spear of light had burned deepest, the flesh itself had melted, revealing the chest cavity beneath.

  The bolt found that exact spot.

  SWOOSH!... KACHING!

  Metal punched through corrupted flesh with a wet crunch. The bolt's momentum carried it completely through the massive body, its shattered tip erupting from the creature's back.

  The thrashing stuttered. Then stopped. The abomination crashed backward onto scorched cobblestones.

  Rhoghar dropped to one knee again, his divine sense tracking the unholy energy as it guttered and died. His head bowed, a long breath escaping him.

  Silence held for heartbeats. Then minutes.

  Cheers erupted from the soldiers.

  "It's down! The monster's down!" Hendricks' voice carried across the district, relief evident in every syllable. His head turned toward the battlements, searching for the marksman.

  The crossbow's recoil slammed into Alph, throwing him backward. He hit the stone platform hard, consciousness already slipping away into darkness.

  The old soldier rushed to his side, dropping to his knees. Trembling hands pressed against Alph's neck, searching for a pulse. His breath caught—alive, but unresponsive.

  Distant cheers reached his ears. He stumbled to the battlement's edge and saw it—the abomination lying motionless, soldiers celebrating around the corpse. The nightmare was over.

  His gaze snapped back to the unconscious youth. Their savior, collapsed and unmoving.

  No one noticed the shadow beneath the tower's overhang. It had watched the entire engagement with detached interest—until the bolt fired. The baleful aura coating that projectile had drawn a sharp, involuntary gasp from within the shadow.

  Now the figure studied the fallen boy, sensing something unexpected. The youth's life force wasn't fading—it was rising, growing stronger despite his unconscious state.

  The shadow condensed, taking human form while remaining imperceptible to mundane sight.

  Necromancer Corbin's lips curved slightly. "Fascinating. I never thought this small town would bring so many surprises in one day."

  He melted back into darkness, dissolving like smoke.