The camp descended into chaos.
Harsh whispers scraped against the mind—slithered through the air, striking fear in all who heard them. Children screamed. Warriors scrambled to arm themselves. Mothers clutched little ones, dragging them behind yurts, while elders were hurried toward the protective rock shelf looming at the camp's rear.
Above it all, In'ang's voice roared like a storm.
"Warriors of the Grest—with me! Defend the camp! Children and the elders—get them to safety!"
The ground trembled as hooves, boots, and claws thundered across the clearing.
Ka'shala rose from her seated position, eyes glowing with dangerous calm. Two glowing Marks shimmered through the fabric near her collarbones—a flame rising from a horizontal line, pulsing with Ethos. The sand at her feet churned as if alive, coiling up into the air around her.
"Seems the little birdie was right, Chief In'ang," she said dryly.
With a flick of her wrist, the swirling sand compressed into glowing needles, then shot forward like a hailstorm, striking down a group of demons who came too close.
Her tribal warriors rallied to her, their movements trained as they mounted their Laich beast, the bird-like beast they rode into camp.
At the base of the tower, Suren and his companions fought with whatever they could find tools, sticks, crude spears—fending off wave after wave of snarling imps. The creatures clawed and screeched, their twisted forms battering against the tower's outer walls in a frenzied attempt to breach it.
"Suren, what's happening?!" Tinkwick shouted, driving a sharpened wooden shaft into an imp's chest, kicking it off with a grimace.
"We have to hold for thirty minutes!" Suren yelled, parrying with a metal rod. "The Ethos pool has to fill before the tower stabilizes!"
His Mark flared, a ribbon of light crawling up his wrist as he focused. Suren swept glowing lines into the air using his new skill Radiant Construction but the threads unraveled before taking form, scattering like twinkling starlight in the wind.
"Crap…"
"Thirty minutes?!" Ti'chan bellowed, swinging his curved scimitar in a wide arc and decapitating two charging imps. "I doubt we'll last five!"
"What happens when the time's up?" Za'tan growled. "Do the demons just… walk away?"
The four retreated, shoulders nearly touching, pressed against the glowing base of the tower. All around them, the night writhed and twisted. The abyss seemed to breathe, its shadows thickening into a churning fog.
From that darkness something emerged, a monstrous lion-shaped beast, scaled in black, a single withered wing twitching from its back, two curved horns curling like Ti'chan's scimitar from its head.
It stepped onto the battlefield killing several imps crushing them under its massive claws, its approach marked by rising whispers unintelligible words gnawing at their sanity.
Pools of corruption gathered at its feet dripping from its black eyes.
Suren's breath caught in his throat. The four of them stood frozen as pure dread gripped their bodies. Even Ti'chan's blade trembled.
"What… what is that?" Rickon asked, his voice cracking. Black spots bloomed along his arms and neck, as the influence of the Abyss rose in the area.
"That is a thrall!"Shouted Za'tan, who also started showing signs of corruption as he threw his hammer at the creature.
The creature pounced, turning into a shadowy blur of madness.
Suren clenched his jaw as his palm rested against the tower. He closed his eyes. The tower's walls formed in his mind—the blueprint marking his mind. He reached out, tracing through the air, glowing lines following his fingertips.
"Radiant Construction," He whispered
A curved wall of astral light materialized before them just as the beast struck.
The impact shattered the barrier but not before it absorbed the full brunt of the attack, buying them seconds. The fragments disintegrating into light spots.
"We need more than seconds," Ti'chan muttered, his knees shaking.
Suren stood tall, light flickering at his fingertips—but before he could cast again, arrows whistled past him, their bone heads slamming into the demon's hide, embedding deep.
From the shadows, thundering hoofbeats approached. Heavy breaths. Stomping hooves. The Greste Riders emerged—Kru'an and his squad, their silhouettes imposing against the tower's light, bows already drawn.
The thrall turned just in time to be gored by a charging Greste, its forward horns impaling its side and flinging it across the clearing in a burst of black mist. It rolled once, snarling, before its hooves dug into the soil.
Kru'an's voice rang out. "Do not let it recover!"
The Greste riders let loose another volley of arrows, each one striking true— turning the lion-like beast into a porcupine. The beast writhed under the onslaught, its flesh bubbling with corrupted ichor.
But even as the arrows found their mark, a dark miasma spread from the creature, corrupting everything it touched. The riders reeled—but the runes engraved into their Greste's armor flesh flared blue, glowing against the darkness. The corruption was drawn into the plating like ink into cloth, sparing their riders.
The demon roared, fractured, making ears bleed, and shadows flickered as weaker minds faltered.
With one mighty paw, it swatted two Greste aside, their riders tumbling. Its single black wing swept forward, cutting clean through another Greste's flank, slicing through even its thick natural armor. Blood splattered onto the soil, steaming from the heat of the creature.
Despite the wound, the Greste did not retreat. Ramming the beast driving it further from the tower.
As the battle raged on, more warriors arrived, Ni'nan at the lead riding horses, his braided hair bouncing against his leather armor, eyes sharp. Behind him were tribes people ushering non-combatants toward the tower, Mi'isa among them.
Ni'nan's bow snapped taut, releasing arrow after arrow through the eyes and mouth of the encroaching imps.
Ti'chan and Tinkwick towards them. Cutting down the imps that get in their way or blasting them with metal powders.
"Ni'nan!" Ti'chan shouted, grabbing a fleeing child from Mi'isa's arm, as Tinkwick grabbed her arm helping her run. "What happened?"
Ni'nan didn't pause. "The camp's overrun. The two chiefs are holding the rear line. The rest of us are bringing everyone here."
Another arrow flew from her bow, hitting an imp mid-jump and pinning it to a rock.
Meanwhile, Suren worked feverishly, sweat on his brow. He traced glowing lines through the air, conjuring more astral constructs, copying from he design of the tower, curved walls, arch walls, and a staircase leading to nothing but air, slowing the demons' advance and giving space for the tribes people to gather at the tower.
Tinkwick shouted behind as he ushered Mi'isa into the tower. "Those constructs are brilliant! But we need a whole wall next time!"
Suren rolled his eyes at him. "Sure what do you want after that? A damn fortress!"
The Tower of Astrum Ruin pulsed again, its light glowing brighter, he focused on his mark.
Time Remaining: 00:15:00
A mournful roar echoed across the battlefield.
At the edge of the tower's glow, the thrall lay still, black blood steaming from the wound in its skull. A long spear jutted from its eye socket, its limbs twitching weakly before going still forever.
Kru'an rode forward, his Greste black blood dripping from its hide, trampling smoldering embers and corpses underfoot. His face was grim, eyes locked not on the fallen demons or his fellow tribesmen, but on the tower.
"Come," he growled, voice gravel and fury. "We tear it down. Maybe then, this madness ends."
His words silenced all those nearby. Some cast uneasy glances at him.
But Kru'an was already moving—his Greste pawing at the dirt, head lowered like a battering ram. He did not look at anyone. His gaze was fixed on the luminous peak of the Tower of Astrum Ruin, where starlight swirled in ethereal patterns.
Suren scrambled towards him but someone beat him to it.
"That wasn't the Chief's command," Ni'nan said, stepping forward to block his path. His horse neighed uneasily in the Greste's presence.
"Chief In'ang instructed us to fall back here and defend from this area."
Kru'an did not answer. His eyes didn't flicker. Behind him, his riders shifted, their mounts slowly edging around Ni'nan's flanks in a loose formation.
"Move, or for the sake of the tribe, I will demolish you as well," Kru'an said, his voice now quieter—more dangerous. "It was In'ang's incompetence that got us into this mess."
One of his warriors dismounted and handed him a heavy sledgehammer from the work site. Kru'an gripped it with one hand, resting it across his shoulder.
"This tower is a curse," he said. "And I won't let it claim another drop of Grest blood."
Ni'nan stood his ground.
"I will not allow you to disrespect the tribe leader."
The air crackled with tension.
The standoff held like a taut bowstring.
More members of both the Grest and Lai tribes arrived, guiding non-combatants toward the tower. They stood off to the side—silent, unsure—watching with wide eyes as the confrontation unfolded.
Then it happened.
The whispers surged.
A wave of Abyssal corruption washed across the air, sharp and sudden, like a sunshower. Weaker members of both tribes cried out, clutching their heads or collapsing to their knees, unable to resist the force.
Tribal beasts growled and stirred, their Marks glowing with urgent light, absorbing the corruption from those around them. The protective runes along their hides shimmered, fighting back the tide of madness.
Above them, the stars dimmed, the heavens retreating.
Only the ninth floor of the tower shone now, a beacon amidst the dark.
Then came a sound from the tribal camp.
A deep, guttural growl.
Not like the imps. Not like the thrall.
Something bigger. Crueler. Darker. More ghastly.
A towering silhouette loomed against the flickering fires, rising higher with each thudding step. The ground quaked beneath its approach. Battle cries still rang from the campsite, but they were fewer now.
Kru'an turned to face it, and his expression—stone-cold until now—cracked. Even his seasoned Greste steed shifted uneasily beneath him.
Ni'nan stepped forward, her eyes narrowed.
"So," he said coolly, "do you still plan to tear down our only shelter?"
He motioned toward the rising shape of the demon.
"Or would you rather fight a brute-class on your own?"
Kru'an gritted his teeth. His hand tightened around the hammer's handle, then slowly, he let it drop. The sledgehammer thudded into the dirt.
Without a word, he turned and barked orders. The tribes people were ushered into the tower, weapons raised as they warded off the lesser demons.
Suren exhaled, tension draining from his limbs.
"Thank you," he murmured to Ni'nan.
He said nothing—only gave him a single, sharp nod and stepped inside after his people.
"Follow me!" Suren shouted, turning toward the spiral stairs.
He sprinted upward—Tinkwick, Rickon, Za'tan, Ti'chan, Ni'nan, and even the reluctant Kru'an falling in behind.
They reached the ninth floor, its air pulsing with energy. Starlight gathered along the etched map beneath their feet, the radiant design humming with Ethos. Together they gazed through the open view of the plains below before shifting focus towards the pond on the plateau where the nomad now destroyed once resided.