Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The emergency alarm tore through the early morning haze, its sound sharp and unrelenting. Every head in the fortress snapped toward the northern horizon where a dust storm had begun to rise—not from wind, but from sheer mass. Soldiers scrambled, units were called, and horns sounded across the battlements. The tension was immediate. Palpable.
Kalem, seated beside Onyx with a half-polished resonance blade in his lap, looked up and narrowed his eyes.
The cause of the alarm soon became visible—impossibly vast and cruel in shape. A Gravewrought Behemoth.
A monster of legend.
Even from kilometers away, its scale was undeniable—nearly 200 meters tall, it moved like a mountain on legs, its body fused with jagged stone, scrap metal, and skeletal limbs. Faces of the dead stretched across its torso and limbs, mouths open in eternal screams. With each thunderous step, it left behind broken craters, and the very earth seemed to groan under its weight.
Kalem immediately rose and made his way toward the command tent, where officers barked orders and scouts reported the creature's trajectory.
"Deployment position?" Kalem asked as he reached the central table, map markers trembling slightly with each impact the monster made in the distance.
"None," replied a heavily armored Orc officer without looking up. "Our job is harassment only. Bait the damn thing westward, toward the ridge. The 7th Legion is already setting up an ambush in the valley. You'll be joined by other cavalry units."
Kalem nodded once. "Understood."
He turned on his heel and was already heading toward his cart. Onyx was pawing at the ground, as if he too had felt the weight of the thing that approached.
Kalem secured the weapons onto the cart with practiced ease. The crimson spear was locked in the front slot. The whip holstered at his belt. The fire sword and resonance blade secured at the sides. And behind them all, the shockwave axe gleamed like a slumbering beast.
He didn't speak. Onyx didn't need orders.
They charged.
Out through the fortress gate and into the open expanse, where other cavalry carts and mounted riders were already assembling. There were nearly thirty of them—some on horses, others with armored lizards, even a few mechanical constructs powered by internal glyph engines. Each was outfitted with runes designed for speed and survivability rather than pure firepower.
Because none of them were expected to kill the thing.
They were only there to survive. To annoy it.
And to lead it to its death.
A wave of orders came from a signal flare—a bright orange streak arcing into the sky.
"Engage!"
Kalem's cart surged forward as Onyx kicked into full gallop. The sound of hooves, gears, and shouted commands echoed through the dry canyons as the unit split into smaller groups. Kalem's group of six veered left, flanking the creature's eastern side.
As they closed in, the full horror of the Gravewrought came into view.
Its left arm ended in a massive club made of interwoven ribs and metal. Its right hand dragged an enormous length of broken architecture—likely a piece of an ancient wall it had uprooted in the past. The faces embedded in its chest wailed in unison, creating a psychic screech that caused some of the less mentally-armored riders to flinch.
"Focus!" someone barked over the storm of noise.
Kalem's eyes flicked up. The creature's movements were slow, but not clumsy. Its awareness was terrifying—each step was measured, each motion deliberate. And it was turning. Toward them.
Kalem stood upright on his cart, fingers wrapping around the fire sword's hilt.
"Brace," he whispered.
With a flick, he activated the enchantment. Flames surged across the blade as he launched it in a wide arc toward the giant's ankle. The firewave struck—not enough to harm, but enough to sting.
The Gravewrought turned, and a horrible grinding sound erupted as it opened its mouth—if it could be called that. The skulls of fallen giants lined its throat like a windpipe. From within, it loosed a roar so deep it cracked the surrounding stones.
"That got its attention," Kalem muttered.
Other riders followed his lead, launching volleys of enchanted javelins, arrows tipped with disruption runes, and even crystal grenades designed to flash-blind. One rider sped forward with a glowing net of radiant light and managed to wrap it around the creature's leg.
It stumbled. Only briefly.
But it was enough.
It lashed out with the club-arm, flattening three riders instantly—dust and debris erupted like an explosion. Another group tried to get too close and was sent flying as the monster dragged its architectural weapon in a wide sweep.
Kalem yanked the whip from his side and swung it once—the flame lashed out and cracked against the creature's torso, setting a patch of screaming faces alight. They screamed louder, a chaotic choir.
He didn't wait for retaliation. Onyx darted to the side just as the monster's foot came crashing down, leaving a ten-meter crater behind them.
"Westward!" someone shouted.
Kalem's eyes narrowed. The valley trap was waiting.
He turned the cart, using the terrain's dips and ridges to build momentum, weaving in and out of stone formations as the rest of the surviving cavalry did the same.
Behind them, the Gravewrought Behemoth gave chase.
It wasn't fast, but its strides were enormous—every step easily matched a dozen of theirs. But the plan was working. The monster followed the bait. Its hate, its endless fury, all directed at the gnats that stung and seared and refused to die.
Kalem glanced over his shoulder once as Onyx surged forward.
The giant was coming.
And the earth shook with each step.
The ridge was still a few kilometers away, but Kalem knew. If they could keep it occupied, keep it angry, keep it moving—they'd lead death right into a noose.
And they'd live to do it again tomorrow.