It was child-sized, barely a meter tall, its body connected to the larger creature through thousands of organic cables, veins and neural pathways linking it to the factory-body like a brain to nervous system.
It sat motionless, eyes closed, its surface covered in the same leathery armor but smoother, more refined.
This was the controller.
The intelligence directing the mindless horde.
The heart of the factory.
Around the room, hundreds of eggs lined the walls.
Larger than before, pulsing with power that made the air vibrate.
CRACK!
The child-creatureâs eyes snapped open.
White pupils, completely blank, showing nothing.
Then... it screamed.
SHRIIIIIIEK!
The sound was wrong, hitting frequencies that made ears bleed, that made skulls feel like they were cracking.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Every egg in the chamber burst simultaneously.
Creatures emerged, dropping from the walls, falling from above, their sizes varying but all clearly powerful.
Not quite A rank, but not B rank either.
Somewhere in between, forced to hatch prematurely, incomplete but still devastating.
And they fell directly into the formationâs center.
BOOM!
A student died before he could scream, crushed under a falling creatureâs weight, his body pulped instantly.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
More impacts as creatures landed, the formation shattering completely, organization dissolving into desperate individual struggles for survival.
Damian fought on instinct alone, his mind barely present, body moving through patterns remembered rather than chosen.
SLASH! RIP! TEAR!
But he was getting blasted backward, his injuries mounting, chunks of flesh missing, blood pouring from wounds that self-healing couldnât keep pace with.
[Will: 70 â 30]
His consciousness was flickering, awareness dipping in and out, humanity slipping away with each passing second.
The Imperials activated everything they had left.
Cassiusâs Shadow Legion multiplied, sixteen clones now instead of eight, darkness-principle Aura burning through his reserves.
Jonathanâs Divine Aegis blazed brighter, golden light cutting through enemies, but each swing cost more than he could afford.
Benâs Inferno Dominion erupted, flames consuming everything nearby, friend and foe alike forced back by overwhelming heat.
Alexanderâs Aegis Eternal created overlapping shields, but creatures were smashing through them like they were paper.
Raymondâs wind barriers formed and collapsed and formed again, each iteration weaker than the last.
Davidâs healing Aura flowed constantly, keeping people alive through injuries that should have killed them, his reserves draining to nothing.
Sophiaâs telekinesis hurled corpses and debris, creating momentary barriers, buying precious seconds.
But it wasnât enough...
Time seemed to slow.
Lysa fired arrow after arrow, her ice-blue Aura creating perfect shots, each one finding vulnerable points despite the chaos.
Then she saw it.
Zavier, exhausted and surrounded, about to be killed by a creature descending from above.
"NO!"
Her scream tore through the battle.
Her body was already moving before her mind gave permission.
Two creatures between her and Zavier. Her arrows killed them both â clean shots, throat and eye, the kind of precision that only came from pushing her skill past its limits.
She reached him...
And shoved him aside with everything she had.
"NOOO!"
Zavierâs scream mixed with Edrin and Ronanâs simultaneous cries.
"LYSA!"
The creatureâs hand closed around her small frame.
CRUNCH!
Her ribs shattered, blood exploding from her mouth, organs rupturing from the pressure.
It lifted her upward, its jaws opening wide, preparing to consume her while she was still alive.
And Lysa Morwenâs life flashed before her eyes.
Not slowly or gently. Not the way stories described it â a warm light, a peaceful review and a final reckoning with the divine.
It came like a dam breaking. Every memory sheâd ever formed, crashing through her consciousness in shattered pieces, tearing through her mind faster than she could hold onto any single one.
****
A kitchen, small and warm, that had sunlight coming through a window that always stuck.
Her mother stood at the stove, humming something without melody, the sound filling the room the way only a motherâs absent humming could.
Her father sat at the table reading a report, his work uniform still on, boots still muddy from the routes he walked every day.
Lysa, maybe four years old, sat between them on the floor, trying to draw a bird with crayons that were too thick for her small fingers.
The bird looked nothing like a bird.
She held it up.
"Mama, look!"
Her mother turned, looked at the drawing with the most serious expression a person could give a four-year-oldâs scribble, and said â
"Thatâs the most beautiful bird Iâve ever seen, baby."
Her father glanced over his report, smiled and went back to reading.
Sheâd wanted him to say something too.
But he didnât.
She never told him that it mattered.
****
The morning she left for Stormhold Academy, fifteen years old, bag packed, standing at the front door while the sky opened up like it was trying to wash the whole city away.
Her mother appeared behind her, pressing something into her hands.
A blue umbrella.
"Youâll catch a cold."
"Mom, I will generate Aura soon, I wonât get colâ"
"Take the umbrella, Lysa."
She took the umbrella.
Her father had left for patrol before dawn but there was a note on the kitchen table:
"Make us proud. Come home safe. â Dad"
Seven words... That was the most her father had ever written to her at once.
Sheâd read it four times, folded it carefully, and put it inside her bag where it still sat, creased and soft from months of being carried everywhere.
She hadnât hugged her mother long enough, she remembered that now as sheâd been in a hurry, the train was leaving.
Sheâd pulled away too quickly and said "Iâll be fine, Mom" and walked into the rain with the blue umbrella her mother had given her.
She should have held on longer.
She should have waited for her father.
She should have said more than "Iâll be fine."
****
A corridor, stormhold Academy, first day.
A boy walking ahead of her with dark crimson hair, hands in his pockets.
He didnât look at anyone, didnât acknowledge the crowd of nervous first-years, just walked like the hallway belonged to him and everyone else was borrowing it.
âWhat an unfriendly person.â
That was her first thought about Damian Valcor.