Dawn crept across Arathis like a reluctant promise, its thin light struggling against the smoke that rose from the barricades. Leo moved along the line of defenders—Brask's fighters, grim and battle-worn; refugees clutching improvised weapons; children hiding behind barrels.
His machete rested across his back, its rune dull in the morning haze. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of every decision pressing on his spine.
Kara leaned against a crumbling wall, cleaning her rifle with quick, efficient movements. "You'd think the darkness would give us a day off," she muttered.
Leo gave a humorless smile. "Evil doesn't take holidays."
Aícha approached from the barricade's edge, her staff glowing faintly. "The refugees are scared," she said softly. "Some want to run. Others think they're safer on their own."
Leo's jaw tightened. "Splitting up now would be suicide," he said.
Jarek emerged from the shadows, his axe heavy on his shoulder. "They don't understand what's coming," he growled. "They think the darkness is something you can hide from."
Leo's eyes hardened. "We make them understand."
Brask appeared, his armor dented and streaked with soot. "The scouts saw movement in the east," he reported. "Shapes in the smoke. They're coming."
Kara's grin was thin and sharp. "Then let's give them a proper welcome," she said.
Leo turned, his gaze sweeping the barricade—a patchwork of splintered wood and rusted metal, every gap a doorway to death. He spotted a young girl—no older than twelve—clutching a kitchen knife like a lifeline.
He crouched beside her, his voice low but steady. "What's your name?"
"L-Lina," she stammered.
Leo nodded. "Stay behind the barrels, Lina. Keep your eyes open. If anything comes through that smoke, you scream."
She nodded, her face pale but determined.
A shout rose from the barricade's eastern edge. Brask's fighters tensed, weapons at the ready.
"Eyes up!" Jarek barked.
Shapes emerged from the smoke—hulking forms twisted by shadow, their eyes burning with a sickly glow. The darkness had found them.
Leo rose, his machete a silver line in the gloom. "Hold the line!" he shouted. "Don't give them an inch!"
The first of the creatures charged—a beast of sinew and bone, its claws dripping darkness. Brask's fighters met it with blades and grit, steel clashing in a spray of sparks.
Kara's rifle barked, each shot a thunderclap. Aícha's staff glowed bright, her magic lashing out like a whip of light.
Leo's machete struck, carving through shadow with a roar of defiance.
Smoke and screams filled the barricade as the darkness pressed in, relentless and hungry.
Lina's voice rose in a terrified wail. Leo's heart twisted, but his blade didn't falter.
"Don't let them through!" he cried. "Every breath counts!"
Jarek swung his axe, a wall of steel and fury. Kara reloaded, her face set in grim determination.
Aícha's staff flared, light dancing across the barricade, driving back the darkness with each pulse.
The line held. Barely.
But for every shadow that fell, another took its place.
Leo's arms burned, his breath ragged. "We can't keep this up forever," he growled.
Jarek's snarl was fierce. "Then we fight until we can't."
Smoke churned in the dawn light, twisting around the barricade like a living thing.
Leo's machete rose again, ready. "No surrender," he said, his voice a promise.
And with that, the battle raged on.
The barricade shook as the darkness's assault grew fiercer. Leo's arms ached from each strike, his machete dripping black ichor that steamed as it hit the ground. Every breath was a ragged drag of smoke and grit.
A shout rose from the western flank—panic, raw and sharp. Leo spun, his eyes catching the sight of a twisted shape lunging over a barricade section weakened by rot and neglect.
"Breach!" Brask bellowed.
Kara's rifle snapped to her shoulder, her voice cold as iron. "Leo—"
"Go!" Leo shouted.
He led the charge, his machete carving a path through the press of bodies—fighters, refugees, shadows. The breach yawned like a wound, its edges crumbling beneath clawed hands.
Aícha's staff flared, light streaking through the darkness. "Seal the breach!" she cried.
Jarek's axe swung, hacking at a shadow that screamed as it died. "We hold them here!" he roared.
The darkness poured in—a living tide of teeth and claws, eyes that burned with sickly hunger. Refugees screamed, scattering as the creatures lunged.
Leo's blade struck again and again, each swing an answer to the chaos. "Close the gap!" he shouted. "Push them back!"
Kara's rifle barked, sending rounds slamming into the shadows. She pivoted, eyes hard. "We need more bodies!"
Brask's fighters surged, shields raised, blades flashing. Their formation was ragged but determined.
Aícha's magic lashed the darkness, weaving light into walls that flickered under the assault. "I can't hold them forever!" she gasped.
Jarek grunted, blood on his cheek. "Then hold them as long as you can!"
The ground shook as a monstrous shape slammed into the barricade—a thing of muscle and bone, its eyes burning with the promise of oblivion. Leo met its gaze, his machete raised.
With a roar, he lunged, blade meeting shadow in a burst of sparks and darkness. The creature screamed, its claws slashing at his arm. Pain flared, white-hot.
Leo's jaw clenched. "Not today," he growled.
With a final, savage strike, he split the creature's head, black ichor spraying like tar.
The breach shuddered, the darkness hesitating. Kara's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. "Press the advantage!"
Brask's fighters surged, shields locked, blades flashing. The line pushed forward, step by step.
Aícha's staff burned with light, each pulse driving the darkness back.
And slowly—inch by inch—the breach closed.
Silence fell, broken only by ragged breaths and the hiss of dying embers.
Leo's machete trembled in his grip, his knuckles white.
Kara's rifle lowered. "That was too close," she said, her voice tight.
Jarek's axe swung down, his face a mask of blood and sweat. "We can't hold like this forever," he growled.
Leo's gaze swept the barricade—shattered, bloodied, but still standing. "We'll make it work," he said.
Aícha's staff dimmed, her eyes haunted. "For how long?" she whispered.
Leo's voice was low but firm. "As long as it takes."
The smoke drifted in slow, heavy coils through the ruined plaza. The barricade—patched and bloodstained—stood battered but intact, a fragile promise that the city still held.
Leo's breath came in ragged gasps, his machete heavy in his grip. He leaned against a shattered column, sweat and blood mingling on his face.
Kara stood nearby, cleaning her rifle with hands that shook more than she'd admit. "This place," she muttered. "It's a graveyard."
Jarek's axe rested against his knee, the blade dark with ichor. "It's a fight," he rumbled. "We knew that when we came here."
Aícha knelt beside a wounded fighter, her staff dimmed to a faint glow. She murmured soft words as she pressed a poultice to a gash in the man's side. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, her magic drained by the night's work.
Leo's gaze swept the survivors: Brask's men tending to the fallen, refugees clinging to one another in the shadows. Every face carried the same hollow look—the cost of survival.
Brask approached, his armor streaked with grime and sweat. "We held," he said. "But it cost us."
Leo's jaw tightened. "It always does."
A scream rose from the darkness—a woman's voice, thin and sharp. Leo turned, machete rising, but it was only a mother clutching her child, tears streaming down her face.
Aícha's staff brightened. "She's lost everything," she whispered. "What do we give her now?"
Jarek's growl was low and tired. "We give her a reason to fight," he said.
Kara's rifle hung at her side, her voice flat. "And what if she's too broken to fight?"
Leo's eyes hardened. "Then we fight for her," he said.
Brask's hand fell on Leo's shoulder, heavy and firm. "They're looking to you," he said. "They need something to believe in."
Leo looked around—the battered barricade, the wounded, the children's haunted eyes. The darkness had left its mark on all of them.
He raised his machete, the rune a faint flicker in the dawn light. "We stand," he said. "We fight. And we don't let the darkness take another inch."
Kara's grin was small but fierce. "Then let's make sure we're ready for the next round."
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder, his face a mask of iron. "Because it's coming," he growled.
Aícha's staff pulsed softly. "And we'll be waiting," she said.
Leo's gaze swept the ruined city, his heart heavy but unbroken. "Let the darkness come," he whispered. "We're not done yet."