A section of the eastern rampart collapsed—not from their doing, but from cumulative damage. Demons and paladins alike tumbled into the courtyard, still fighting even as they fell. One landed near Liam, a young demon with half his face burned by holy fire.
Their eyes t for a second. The young demon’s lips moved—trying to say sothing, ask for sothing.
Liam kept running.
[Humanity Index: 27% → 26%]
Seventy feet.
The western wall stood close now. They could see individual paladins—tired, bloodstained, focused on the eastern assault and not watching their own position.
"DEMON ASSAULT! SOUTH WALL!"
Soone had finally noticed. A paladin lieutenant, sharper than the rest, pointing and shouting orders.
Soldiers started turning, started repositioning, started realizing the impossible—that sothing was in the courtyard, moving with purpose, heading toward them.
"BREAK!" Liam roared.
The tight formation scattered. Twenty-three demons spreading out, making themselves harder targets as arrows began to fall. Not many—the paladins were exhausted, ammunition low—but enough.
A Krazax veteran—a demon nad Gresh who’d survived both previous assaults—took an arrow through the shoulder. Stumbled. Fell. Torrgh grabbed him, hauled him forward, refusing to leave anyone behind.
Ninety feet.
The western wall was close enough to see expressions now. Tired faces. Scared faces. The faces of soldiers who’d been fighting for eight hours and were being asked to fight more.
One more arrow volley. This one better aid, more coordinated.
Two demons fell. One died instantly, arrow through the eye. The other scread, clutching a gut wound that would kill him in hours if not treated imdiately.
"LEAVE HIM!" Liam commanded, hating himself for the words but knowing they were necessary. "WE DON’T STOP!"
They reached the western wall.
And then it was steel and blood and the kind of close combat that turned soldiers into butchers.
Liam hit the wall first, Igar’s Shard already moving. A paladin raised his blessed sword too slowly—Liam’s blade took him through the gap in his armor, between ribs and into lung.
[Soul-Drinker Activated: 9 EP]
Koth crashed into the defenders like a avalanche, his massive form using montum as weapon.
Three paladins went down under his charge, their formation broken, their defensive line compromised.
Zara was already climbing, using bodies and broken stone as ladder, reaching the rampart above. Her blades flashed in afternoon light—quick, efficient, surgical. Every strike found flesh. Every movent had purpose.
The paladins tried to reform. Tried to create a defensive wall. Tried to do what they’d been trained to do.
But they were exhausted. And they were facing demons who’d crossed a courtyard no one survived, which ant these demons were either insane or unstoppable.
Both were terrifying prospects.
"PUSH!" Liam commanded, Hell’s Fla wrapping around Igar’s Shard. "TAKE THE WALL!"
They pushed.
The western rampart fell in seventeen minutes.
Not because the paladins were weak. But because they’d been fighting for eight hours and suddenly faced fresh soldiers attacking from an impossible direction with impossible determination.
The last paladin on the rampart—a grizzled veteran who looked like he’d survived a hundred battles—stood surrounded by Krazax demons. His blessed sword was broken. His armor cracked. Blood ran from a dozen wounds.
He looked at Liam with eyes that held no fear. Just tired acceptance.
"You’re the one they’re calling the Demon savior," he said. Not a question.
"Perhaps."
"The human who fights like a demon."
"Yes."
The veteran laughed—a sound like grinding stone. "Figures. We spent eight hours killing each other and it’s not enough. Universe had to throw sothing new at us."
He raised his broken sword. "Well? Get it over with."
Liam studied the paladin. Saw no hatred there. No zealotry. Just a soldier who’d fought too long and was ready for it to end.
"Surrender," Liam said quietly.
The courtyard had gone quiet. Both sides watching. Waiting to see what Lord Azra would do.
"No," the veteran said simply.
"Then die."
Igar’s Shard took him through the heart. Quick. Clean. The rcy of a soldier who understood what the veteran had been asking for.
[Soul-Drinker Activated: 23 EP]
The western rampart was theirs.
And in the sudden absence of pressure from the western assault, the demons on the eastern rampart rallied. Pushed back. Gained ground for the first ti in eight hours.
Commander Thrak appeared on the rampart, his massive form moving with precision. He assessed the changed battlefield with cold, calculating eyes.
Then those eyes found Liam.
For a long mont, the two commanders stared at each other across the courtyard. One who’d fought for three centuries with emotionless efficiency. One who’d fought for weeks with desperate innovation.
Thrak gave a single, curt nod. Acknowledgnt, perhaps. Or just confirmation that the variables had changed and he was adjusting his calculations accordingly.
"Lord Azra!" Koth called from the wall. "The paladins are retreating! Pulling back to secondary positions!"
Liam looked down at the courtyard. At the bodies. At the blood. At the wounded from both sides who lay in the killing ground, waiting to see if anyone would co for them.
[Fear Detected: 73 Entities]
[Essence Conversion: 2,190 EP]
The numbers climbed. More power. More fuel for the performance.
And all it had cost was three demons dead, five wounded, and one more percentage point of whatever remained human.
[Humanity Index: 26% → 25%]
[Warning: Critical Threshold Approaching]
[Recomndation: Imdiate Psychological Evaluation]
He dismissed the warning.
Below, in the courtyard, a wounded demon was crying. From relief. Because for the first ti in weeks, maybe months, Vor’esh wasn’t being contested.
The at Grinder had stopped grinding.
At least for now.
Liam sheathed his blade and turned to face Commander Thrak, who was making his way across the ramparts toward him.
Ti to et the demon who’d lost the ability to feel.
And see if Lord Azra could teach him to care again.
Or if they were both too far gone for that.
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