The night here was never pure black, but a disturbing, sickly purple. The massive, shattered planetary ring in the sky looked like a festering wound tearing the firmament, spilling pale, radioactive light into the canyon.
The wind sheared through the jagged walls, a low-frequency vibration grinding against the nerves.
I stood atop Bastion Alpha of the Star Fort. Brad jokingly called this the “Quarterback's Tower.” In reality, it was a three-meter-high platform of reinforced concrete and rubble—ugly, but structurally calculated to the millimeter.
A few feet away, a Cat-kin scout crouched low, pressing her bare hands and an ear directly against the cold, hardened concrete. Suddenly, the fur on her tail puffed up, going completely rigid.
Zayla, standing beside me, mirrored the tension. Her ears swiveled forward, locking into place like radar dishes tracking a signal.
"Vibrations," Zayla whispered, her golden pupils narrowing into dangerous slits. "Heavy paws. Iron clashing. They are moving in perfect, predatory unison. Less than a mile out."
"They're coming." I pushed up my glasses, looking down at the labyrinth of trenches and kill zones we had spent the last seven days carving into the earth.
I leaned into the Acoustic Tube—a hollow steel pipe pre-buried in the concrete, leading directly to the bunkers below. It was a primitive communication system, immune to magical interference.
“Everyone, Combat Readiness Condition One. This is not a drill. Maintain silence.”
My voice traveled through the metal pipes, echoing hollowly in the waiting bunkers.
Under the wall, Brad’s eyes snapped open. The linebacker went from dormant to combat-ready in a heartbeat, shedding sleep like a grizzly scenting blood. He rose to his full height, his joints popping like snapping dry wood. Two hundred pounds of S-rank muscle density coiled under his skin, ready to intercept an impact that would pulverize a lesser man.
Zayla appeared silently beside me on the platform. Her movement was liquid, making no sound against the stone. Her abdomen was fully healed, but her face remained pale. The broken blade in her hand glinted coldly in the purple moonlight.
“They are masking their steps,” she whispered, her ears flattened against her skull to catch the faintest sound. “This is the Wolf-kin's, Silent Hunt. They wrap their paws in soft cloth to slit throats before the prey even smells them.”
The moment the dot stopped moving, the darkness tore apart.
Countless pairs of green eyes ignited behind the rocks like ghost fire. Fifty heavily armored Wolf-kin warriors surged out from cover like a black tide.
They looked at the grey-white low wall with the specific contempt of predators facing prey. In their cognition, a three-meter wall was nothing. They didn't need siege engines—just a sprint, a jump, and then the slaughter would begin.
“They're accelerating,” Zayla gripped her hilt. “They aim to overwhelm us with momentum.”
“Let them run.” My voice was as calm as if I were recording lab data, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “Entering Quadrant One.”
The wolf pack rushed into the zone thirty meters from the wall, their formation tight and aggressive.
“Brad! Pull the lever!”
“Eat rock, puppies!” Brad yanked a rusted release cable on the lower platform with a violent jerk.
The Gravity Trebuchets hidden behind the bastions sprang into action. With a heavy mechanical groan of wood and metal under stress, the counterweights slammed down. Two massive limestone boulders, each weighing over a ton, were launched into the air. They traced a high, deadly parabola against the purple night sky, defying the wolves' expectations.
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They crashed into the rear of the wolf pack with the force of a meteorite impact.
The ground shuddered. There was no scream, only the sickening sound of organic matter being crushed instantly. Five or six wolves were reduced to paste, and the shockwave sent a cloud of dust and debris rippling outward. The tight formation shattered in panic.
“Now! While they are disorganized!” I ordered. “Crossfire!”
The Wolf-kin commander, a massive brute in the center, finally realized the trap. The two protruding bastion walls were not just obstacles; they were a giant V-shaped funnel. The geometry of the wall was forcibly squeezing the dispersed pack into the narrow channel in the middle—the only path forward.
This was the Kill Box.
Twenty Cat-kin spearmen broke cover on the bastions, catching the enemy formation in a lethal crossfire.
Sharpened bone spears hissed through the air, carrying the potential energy of gravity. They struck the wolf pack from both the left and right simultaneously. The wolves, focusing on the wall ahead, had their soft ribs exposed. The sound of blades piercing flesh was sickeningly clear and continuous. The five wolves in the vanguard stumbled, pinned to the ground like specimens by the crossfire.
The Silent Hunt turned into a frenzied, chaotic assault. The remaining wolves, driven mad by the smell of blood and the rain of spears, abandoned strategy. They charged toward the concave wall section in the middle, hoping to find a blind spot at the wall's base where the spears couldn't reach.
However, when they arrived, what awaited them was not a blind spot. It was a mountain.
A massive black shadow leaped from the wall, intercepting the charge. Brad Miller—armored in thick Wolf-kin hide and bolted iron plates—hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, digging his heels into the dirt to become a living bulkhead.
“Road closed, puppies!”
Brad swept the heavy tower shield forward with the force of a hydraulic press. A Wolf Centurion, leading the charge, swung a warhammer viciously against the plate. Metal screamed against metal, sending a shower of sparks into the night.
The impact would have shattered a normal man's arm. But Brad didn't move an inch. The Centurion staggered back, his arms numb from the recoil.
“Is that all you got?” Brad laughed, stepping forward and bashing the shield edge into the wolf's helmet. “My grandma hits harder than you!”
“Damn humans...” In the rear, a Wolf Shaman hiding in the shadows crushed a glowing rune stone. “Shaman Hex—Earth Softening!”
A wave of murky yellow ripples spread across the ground, moving faster than a running man.
On the wall, my vision was instantly covered by red alarms. The physical laws of the ground were being rewritten. The concrete surface began to squirm, stone turning into thick, sucking mud. Brad’s legs sank into the ground instantly, trapping him.
“Hey! Why did the ground turn into a swamp?!” Brad struggled, but the mud acted like quicksand, and the wolves were lunging.
“They're tampering with the soil density! It's localized liquefaction!” I stared at the melting wall, my mind frantically calculating. The wolf shamans were breaking the mechanical friction of the dirt.
“Ela!” I roared over the din of battle, pointing to an exposed section of iron rebar protruding from the battlement. “Grab the iron! Maximum radiation! Treat the whole damn wall like a freezing patient!”
Ela didn't hesitate. She slammed her glowing hands onto the cold iron.
Iron is a fantastic conductor. Her high-frequency 'healing' light surged through the entire internal skeleton of the wall like a microwave current. It wasn't a battle of Chaos versus Structure; it was extreme heat versus moisture.
The water trapped in the magically liquefied mud instantly boiled. Steam violently hissed from the pores of the concrete. In seconds, the 'swamp' was flash-baked, rapidly calcifying back into rock-hard terracotta. The earth magic was literally cooked out of the ground.
Brad felt the earth instantly solidify beneath him, locking his boots in place and providing the lethal traction he needed. “Thanks, bro! This foundation is solid!”
He violently wrenched his leg free and, using the renewed leverage, smashed his shield into a lunging wolf's ribs, shattering its chest cavity with a sickening crunch.
Meanwhile, a silver afterimage flashed through the battlefield. Zayla, utilizing the distraction, appeared behind the Shaman.
“Your magic ends here.”
Her blade ended his chant in a spray of dark blood.
I still held the battlement. My fingers were spasming, nails digging into the rough cement. The System wasn't out of energy, but my physical body was.
When Ela 'microwaved' the wall, tons of liquid water had instantly vaporized. A massive, invisible updraft of superheated steam had risen straight up to my position on the tower, displacing all the oxygen.
I was suffocating, suffering from acute thermal shock and hyperventilation.
I tried to push up my glasses, but the lenses were completely fogged with boiling condensation. My arm refused to obey. The purple sky began to spin...
“Alex? Hey! Bro!” Brad’s voice sounded distant, distorted like an underwater echo.
I felt my knees give way. My body collapsed backward like a rag doll, tumbling from the high platform.
But I didn't hit the hard concrete. Soft, swift arms caught me before I struck the ground. I smelled a faint, familiar scent of blood, ozone, and wildflowers—Zayla.
She was trembling, her fear bleeding into me, mixing with my exhaustion.
“Builder! Stay with me!”
That was the last thing I heard before the blackout.
Question of the Day: What happens when you overdraw your mana/stamina in a game?
(Click to choose your penalty)
?? A) You faint.
Result: The Nap of Shame. You wake up at the nearest Inn (or pile of rubble) missing half your gold. Hopefully, your party didn't draw on your face.
?? B) You die.
Result: Hardcore Mode. Game Over. Delete Save. Do not pass Go. Alex really, really wants to avoid this one.
?? C) You eat 50 cheese wheels instantly.
Result: The Dragonborn Method. Time pauses while you inhale 15,000 calories of dairy in 0.1 seconds. Health restored, but your arteries are screaming. Inventory: Empty.
Follow and Rate to see if Alex wakes up in time for the main wave!