From their place high above the battlefield, the five Empyreans seemed more like forces of nature than people. One pounded the golden dome with pure force, each blow shaking the air. Another commanded the elements, flinging ice, fire, and earth at Arthur's strange shield.
A third Empyrean, hidden in a swirl of leaves and flowers, twisted life itself into a weapon. Thorny vines ripped at the dome, trying to strangle it. Roots wormed under the surface, trying to break it from below.
The fourth Empyrean raged with fury. He summoned monstrous creatures, twisted versions of animals from nightmares, to tear and claw at the golden barrier. Their roars were a terrifying chorus against the rumble of the storm.
The last Empyrean, the weakest, was a magic circle maker. He drew glowing symbols in the air, and these circles opened up rifts in space. Weak, ghostly creatures stumbled out of the rifts, but they were no match for the golden dome. They clawed and bit uselessly before fading away.
