The minotaur roars, the sound tearing through the air with enough force to rattle the ribs, and then it moves—faster than something that size should be, closing distance in heavy, controlled strides that chew up the ground beneath it.
“Move,” I bark, stepping back just enough to avoid the initial collision as it slams into the line, the impact driving two villagers off their feet. One disappears under the sheer force of it. The other scrambles, hands clawing at the ground as he tries to find his footing again.
“Up,” I snap, catching him by the back of his collar and hauling him upright before he can freeze. His eyes are wide, unfocused, breath tearing out of him too fast. “Move or die. Pick one.”
He stumbles back into the line, barely holding himself together, but he moves.
That’s enough.
The minotaur turns again, slower now, adjusting its stance, hooves sinking slightly into the softer edge of the bank where the ground starts to give.
Good.
I step forward, not striking to kill, just dragging the edge of my blade along its side hard enough to draw its attention. The movement earns me exactly what I want—its head snapping toward me, its weight shifting to follow.
“Left,” I shout, already moving.
Kareth picks it up instantly, his voice cutting across the line as he signals the shift. Two soldiers break from the edge of formation, not clean, not perfect, but coordinated enough, driving their spears low as the creature’s footing falters for just a fraction of a second.
The ground slips.
Not enough to drop it.
Enough to break its balance.
That’s all we need.
“Push,” I snap.
This time they move together, pressing the advantage, forcing it further onto unstable ground where every step works against it. The minotaur’s movements lose some of their precision, its strength turning clumsy as it tries to correct.
It roars again, louder, angrier, the control slipping.
Better.
Anger is predictable.
A sharp hisscuts through the clash of steel, too smooth, too deliberate to be anything from the front line. I turn on instinct, catching movement along the tree line—low, coiling, weaving between bodies instead of breaking through them.
“Nagas,” I call, pivoting hard as one slips past the edge of the formation, its body flowing through gaps like water.
A villager in its path freezes, spear half-raised, eyes locked on it in a way that tells me he’s already lost.
“Move,” I snap.
He doesn’t.
The naga strikes, fast enough that the air seems to bend around it, knocking his weapon aside and driving him to the ground in one fluid motion.
I close the distance before it can finish, intercepting its follow-up strike, the impact running sharp through my arm as its scaled body twists, trying to wrap, to pull me off balance.
I step into it instead.
Force space.
Break the rhythm.
“Keep distance,” I bark over my shoulder, shifting my stance to keep it in front of me. “They close, you lose—don’t let them coil.”
