Shadow Bands

XLV. Occultation

The Demon Army advanced with unnatural speed, led by massive, shadow-armored infantry whose spiked shields formed an intimidating, dark wall. Hovering behind them were the demon sorcerers, their hands already coalescing foul, black bolts of magic.

Just as the first demonic troops reached the edge of the clearing and prepared to breach the forest line, the Elerian Vanguard erupted in a calculated counter-attack.

This was not a clash of steel and steel; it was a devastating confrontation between nature and the Shadow.

The first response came not from arrows, but from the forest floor itself. The earth beneath the demons' heavy boots slammed upward. Massive, ancient roots—previously disguised as jungle vines—shot out of the ground, skewering the front ranks and tossing the heavy infantry into the air. Trees, responding to the Elerians' innate magic, seemed to shift their positions, creating chaotic, impromptu barriers that funneled the advance into narrow, defensible ravines.

Then came the archers. From concealed nests high in the glowing canopy, Elerian warriors rained down silent death. Their arrows, crafted from polished antler-bone and humming with magical resonance, were tipped with paralyzing, natural toxins. Hundreds of demons stumbled, their Shadow-armor useless against the direct attack to their nervous systems.

Speaker Elatiri was the core of the storm. Mounted on her six-legged steed, she was a silver blur of motion. Her war-armor pulsed with Moon-Tear Aether as she tore into the Demon flank. Elegance was reflected in her bow, showcasing grace and beauty. Her precision was terrifying. The arrows launched from her bow bolted the demons into wood and stone.

Lyra watched the horrifying spectacle, realizing the Grand Prexy's speed meant the primary defense was already engaged. Her value wasn't in the fray; it was in the heart of the compound.

She mounted the Elerian steed and raced back to the central base. There, she found Fogan directing the elderly, the healers, and the remaining support staff in a frantic effort to set up secondary defensive wards around the Elder Tree.

"Lyra!" He called. "Thank the heavens. We're holding steady for now. The demon army has gained no land, but the tide has yet to choose a side."

"What natural advantages can we use?" Lyra asked, looking around the forest.

"Not much of what we're already using now." Fogan placed his hand on his hips. "The demons will bring their cruel devices, and once that happens. . ." Fogan's eyes struggled to meet Lyra's.

"There has to be a way." Lyra bit at the corner of her thumb while envisioning the battle and the multiple outcomes.

A feeling of dread came from beside her. She turned to see nothing, but the feeling never left. Just out of sight, she knew something was stirring. The Grand Prexy said she had something that would ruin their civilization. What that would be, she needed to find out, and her instincts were telling her to head towards that feeling.

· · ─ · ◯☽✵☾◯ · ─ · ·

Helen stood in the cramped, subterranean lab, the air thick with the metallic scent of burnt copper and raw Aether. The heavy canvas pack that had carried the Nighlstone now lay empty.

Tulk and Yarma, despite their exhaustion and lack of a proper forge, had delivered on their impossible promise. Helen's breastplate now housed the Nighlstone. The gem itself was no longer visible; its cold, pulsing energy was integrated directly into the plate's center, feeding raw, untamed Aether into her metals.

Flexing her armored hand, Helen felt the alien power surge through her veins. "It's. . . unlike anything I've ever felt. The energy is constant."

Wiping soot from his brow. "It's stable, Helen, but barely," Tulk said grimly. "We couldn't refine the crystalline matrices. We had to fuse the Stone directly into the center of your plate to disperse the energy evenly. It's crude. You have the power, but it comes with immense instability. Use it sparingly. If the core overheats, the feedback will melt the plate—and you with it."