Dante's shadows intercepted them. Wrapping around empty forms, crushing the corrupted bindings that held them together. Shells crumbled to ash. But more kept coming, pouring from passages like water through broken stone.
"Contact rear!" Aldric's voice, sharp. "Through the walls?—"
Stone exploded behind their formation.
Soldiers burst through solid rock. Not breaking through. Emerging. Like they'd been waiting inside the walls themselves.
The Nightfall blacksmith's apprentice went down first. She'd stood in the square twelve hours ago, voice clear, promising her steel wouldn't fail. Two shells tore her apart before anyone could reach her. Dante felt her die through the link. Brief terror. A cry for help that wouldn't come. Then nothing.
A death-knight fell seconds later. Then two shadow-guards, fighting back to back until shells simply crushed them under numbers. Then, three Nightfall volunteers. Then more.
"Defensive circle!" His shadows spread in a black wave. "Death-knights anchor! Ward-keepers?—"
"The exits!" Brynn's voice cut through. Her circlet blazed as she thrust her hands toward the breached walls. "I can seal them!"
Ward-magic pulsed from her bloodline. Ancient mechanisms responded like they'd been waiting for precisely this. Stone doors ground shut on the passages, shells caught between grinding to nothing.
"Now!" Dante's shadows struck with renewed force.
The tide turned. Death-knights held, shields locked, driving forward.
Then the elite soldier crashed through their line.
Twice the size of the others. Blazing with concentrated golden light. It moved too fast for its mass, physics bending around it. A death-knight raised his shield. The elite backhanded him into the wall. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the chamber.
Then it turned toward the ward-keepers.
Dante's shadows wrapped around it mid-charge. Crushing force. Everything he had.
The elite didn't slow. Tore through his bindings like cobwebs.
Cold shot through his chest. His power. Being resisted.
He shadow-stepped into its path. Locked his hands around its throat. Poured death magic into restraining it, his nature against whatever animated this thing.
Four seconds of locked combat. Neither giving ground. His arms shook with effort. His vision blurred at the edges.
For the first time in centuries, he thought: I might not win this.
The ground gave way.
Brynn had triggered something in the floor. Architecture responding to her command. The stone opened. The elite plunged through. Its roar cut off as the mechanism snapped shut with grinding finality.
Dante stared at the sealed floor. Chest heaving.
Brynn was pale. Shaking. Blood across her face that wasn't hers.
He reached through his shadows. Brushed her wrist once. Still here.
The last shell fell. Then silence.
"Casualty report."
Forty-three dead. Eight death-knights. Twelve shadow-guards. Twenty-three Nightfall volunteers.
He let it settle into his bones. The weight of forty-three souls who'd trusted him.
"Secure this level. Wounded fall back. Everyone else, with me."
