“First Roman Legion. Infantry of the Roman Youth Army. Stop retreating. All units, stop retreating.”The command echoed through the narrow alleyways of Wind Sand Fortress, bouncing off shattered stone walls and broken bodies alike. It cut through screams, clashing steel, and the heavy thunder of massive creatures charging through the streets.For many, the order came too late.The line had already begun to crumble. Fear had worked its way into the ranks, initially quiet, then growing loud and uncontrollable. Discipline cracked under the weight of survival instinct. In the chaos, honor became fragile. Running felt easier than standing. Hiding felt smarter than dying.That was the moment Kane finally broke.Blood covered his face. Some of it belonged to him, but most of it did not. Tears ran freely, cutting pale lines through grime and sweat. His lungs burned with every breath, each one shallow and desperate, as if the next might be his last.Bodies lay everywhere.Roman youths. Boys wh

“Protect the general!”“Kill them. Kill every last one!”The battlefield had slipped into madness.It was no longer about formations or tactics. No shouted commands traveling down the line. What filled the air now was pure sound. Thousands of Roman voices crashing together, raw and broken, rising so high it felt as if the sky itself might split open. Fear had already been trampled into the mud. Reason had died somewhere beneath shattered shields and crushed armor.What remained was something older.Loyalty.The kind that grows stronger the closer it comes to death.Ares Valen was not simply a general standing at the center of the storm.He was the spine of the Roman legion. The force that held two thousand men upright while blood soaked the streets and chaos devoured the world around them. To see him surrounded, wounded, still fighting with unyielding fury, snapped something deep inside every Roman soldier present.Steel rang endlessly.Bones cracked beneath iron.Blood sprayed across

The massacre did not announce itself.It simply arrived.One moment, Sandstorm Fort was noisy but breathing, filled with the familiar sounds of daily life. The next moment, that life cracked apart. Fear struck first. It came fast and merciless, racing through narrow streets and into fragile hearts before anyone truly understood what was happening.There are few sights more painful than people who are terrified and have nowhere to run.Men seized whatever weapons lay within reach. Rusted blades. Farming tools. Broken spears that had not seen battle in years. Most had no idea how to use them. Commands were shouted, but panic tangled every word. Cries overlapped. Screams drowned out reason.People ran. They collided. They tripped over bodies and over each other. Some slipped in blood. Some were knocked down and vanished beneath the surge of fleeing feet. Some never stood up again.These were not soldiers.They had never been meant to be.They were blacksmiths whose hands were shaped for

For Anubis, the jackal-wolf god-guard bound within the flesh of a demigod, the battlefield was never chaos.It was information.To him, the land spread out like an open page, every detail laid bare. The way the wind shifted between broken walls. The faint tremor of boots grinding sand into stone. Even intent itself left traces, ripples too subtle for mortal senses, yet impossible for him to miss.Nothing moved without his knowing.Earlier, when the black shadow descended from the sky like a dark omen, Anubis had watched everything unfold. The brief exchange with Leticia. The faint mockery hiding beneath polite words. The final snort, cold and sharp, carrying unmistakable killing intent.Every part of it had been transmitted directly to Ares Valen.No distortion.No omissions.Every word.Every hidden meaning.Ares stood on the stone steps near the beast pit, his cloak snapping sharply in the desert wind. From a distance, he looked composed. Calm. Almost detached.But those who knew hi

“Awooooo!”The howl cut through the night.It was not just loud. It was not just frightening. It carried weight, sharp and heavy, like something solid tearing through the air. Anyone who heard it felt the same thing in their bones. This was not a warning cry.It was a command.Varkhan, commander of the werewolf legion, lifted his head toward the firelit sky and released the sound from deep within his chest. When the echo finally faded, the silence that followed felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. As if the world itself had paused to listen.Then the darkness answered.The attack began.Werewolves were not soldiers trained on parade grounds. They were born killers. Brutality was not taught to them. It was instinct. On any battlefield, they were terror given shape. Faster than cavalry. More agile than infantry. And once they caught your scent, escape became nothing more than a pleasant illusion.You could hide if you wanted. You could pray too.Neither would save you.In the shadows, thei