Ren fought with what was left of his strength, as the cold sea air howled about a broken port. His longsword was heavy in his hand, thoroughly slick with a mixture of beasts and men's blood. All around him, the world was chaos. Clashing steel, roaring monsters, salt, and death surrounded him like a maelstrom.
The creature—Gorath, the Abyssal King—loomed before them all like an indelible nightmare. Its massive form seemed to drink in the sun's very light. Its scaled hide shimmered with renegade mana cycling through it like the auroras of unyielding darkness. Wherever it stepped, stone cracked beneath it and seawater hissed behind its massive claws.
Ren's breath rattled within his lungs. Every heartbeat sent waves of pain through his body, but he stood on his feet. His training as a knight was the only thing holding him upright. He heard the screams of his younger knights all around him, the wet crunch of bodies being torn from the earth like insects as Gorath swept them away.
"Steady!" Ren bellowed, but his voice cracked through fatigue. "Hold your line!"
However, the line was failing. The winged beasts that had manifested earlier, were still circling above, hunting the fleeing knights on the ground with evasive movements like falcons visiting the dark. Death screams erupted when the winged beasts snatched their prey, dropping them into the cold trauma of the sea.
Ren's eyes flicked back to Varin, now standing more than a dozen paces back, his staff standing tall like a flame against the dark, as he intoned spell after spell and belt of fire and ice struck against the beasts above. Varin looked at Ren, his face white and drawn after chanting spell after spell. "This is beyond us, Ren," he called. "That beast - it's seven-star. The strongest to come from any gate for decades!"
Seven-star. The words chilled Ren even more than the cold salt wind that swept over them. Ren knew what that meant - calamity, a force of nature incarnated, flesh and claws. Even the armies of a kingdom would fail before it.
Gorath took in a long breath, the air itself shimmered around its jagged jaws. Its body expanded, the plates of its hide swelling larger and larger with every breath sucking mana, pulling it from the air. Drinking it as if it was life-blood.
Ren clenched his jaw. Knights around him staggered back one step at a time, eyes wide in fear as the creature's gaze swept over them. Some had already turned and run, only to be snatched from the earth beneath them by the winged monsters above them.
He had no illusions. If they ran now, then they would die cowards, nothing else.
"I'm sorry, my lord," he muttered under his breath—an apology issued to the Marquis he served, and the kingdom he could not save.
He lifted his sword high, his arms rising in a swell of energy; mana pumped through them, glowing white hot along the edge of the sword. It was all he had left, this final strike—an impact, to make one last mark on a world fated for overwhelming darkness, even if he fell in the attempt.
He lunged forward with a shout that teetered between defiance and despair. The sword arced wide and white hot in a fearsome blow, cutting into the scaled chest of Gorath with all the strength and mana he channeled.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. The edge dropped deep into Gorath's thick hide—the blade penetrated more deeply than either of the two cuts so far.
But the beast simply let out a low rumble; a little annoyance. It lifted up one giant hand with claws dripping salty brine; it sent Ren flying aside like a child's doll.
The world blurred around him; he felt a bolt of pain in virtually every limb. He smashed through a broken stone pillar; his armor broke against the ground. He lay there stunned; the sound of the roar of the sea was filling his head.
He could hear his men around him—some continued to fight, others yelled out in pain as Gorath's massive tail swept across the docks, crushing men and stone as it went. He could see Varin with blood running down his face trying to rally the mages, his staff shaking in his hand.
The port was gone. The wooden piers were rearranged into splintered, broken pieces of wood drifting like leaves on the water. The stone and timber were left in ruin and the sea foamed red with blood.
As Ren forced his body to rise, it slowly came down on him; the weight of the hopelessness and futility of their stand. His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the seafloor.
But before he finally collapsed, a gentle force caught him, pulling him upwards from the wreckage. A gentle voice--warm and calm--whispered in his ear. You did well knight, it was said quietly. Rest now.
He willed his eyes open. Above him was a woman with longer green hair which sparkled like emeralds under muted light of the sea. She wore flowing robes of both whites and greens, and the royal insignia of Ruthenia's Crown. Mana whirled around her as she stood like living wind, the runes of power trailing from her finger tips and engraved into the air.
Ren exhaled a shaky breath and felt a huge wave of relief crash over him like warm light. A...Gran...Mage, he whispered, already losing consciousness.
She smiled softly at him. Yes, she said quietly. You have held the line well enough. Now sleep.
She lowered him gently to the ground where he lay far from the beast's fury, then turned her gaze towards Gorath.
The Abyssal King had stopped moving, its eyes narrowed, identifying something different in the presence it felt; not prey, but peer pressure. It unleashed a deep, thunderous roar that rattled through the ruined port city, and began moving forward into the bay. Each step sending waves through the shallow water.
The Abyssal King had paused, ocular threats braiding and bundling. It sensed the new presence--not as prey, but as a rival power. A deep, rumbling bellow arose from the beast and echoed over the crumbled port and its deadly waters, then it began to walk forward, each step rippling through the sea.
The woman's eyes were glowingly green as she lifted her hands, ripping glimmers of mana from her fingers, ancient runes flaring to life in the cold air.
"Come, beast—let us see if my wind can break your hunger," she said softly, her voice steady and unchanging as the and as in the forest in spring.