As Kael's body lay wrapped in glowing sigils, steadily pulling in energy from soul cores and soul tonics, the tide outside the town walls began to thin. Packs of lesser beasts were falling—methodically—under the practiced rhythm of the soul hunters' coordinated assault.
The battlefield had become a dance of order and resilience.
First-rankers rotated for rest.
Second-rankers pushed forward, weapons gleaming with affinity-imbued strikes.
Ranged hunters launched wave after wave of arrows, bolts, and elemental projectiles from atop the walls, painting the sky in color and death.
Victory was close enough to taste.
Until the earth trembled.
The first sign was a change in the air, a sudden drop in pressure, a guttural sound that wasn't just a roar, but something deeper… more aware.
Then they saw them.
The second tide.
They weren't just lesser beasts. They were Feral-ranked Soul Beasts—monstrosities that prowled only the deepest parts of the Fogveil Ring, drawn out now by the growing chaos. Their forms towered over the battlefield, some sleek and armored, others grotesque and pulsing with chaos energy.
One of them—a Spineback Ravager—moved with terrifying agility despite its hulking size, bone spines twitching along its back as it pounced, claws cleaving three hunters in one sweeping arc.
Another, a Howling Gloomwolf, howled once, and every lesser beast in its radius surged in madness, smashing into the town's outer formation.
The organized ranks of soul hunters shattered.
Cries rang out.
"Hold formation! Feral-class incoming!"
"We need suppression at the western zone—NOW!"
The sudden chaos forced the town's mightiest defenders into action.
From the elevated command zone near the central wall, Elder Mordren Hampton, the representative of the ancient Hampton family, stepped forward. His eyes glowed with fierce golden light, his earth-affinity rumbling through the stone beneath his feet.
"All third-ranks and above, engage the ferals! We will not fall today!"
At his side, Elder Nyla of the Crestborne family, cloaked in rumbling wind, vanished with a blur, reappearing atop a feral wolf's back and driving a spear of compressed air through its skull.
Elsewhere, Commander Roen, the grizzled head of Greyveil's Hunter's Guild, barked out orders, rallying the soul hunters:
"Group up! Control skills on the left flank—earth users, form barriers! Fire affinity, rain heat on the Gloomwolf now!"
Soul hunters responded swiftly—chains of light binding limbs, walls of stone erupting to slow charges, shards of ice piercing through exposed gaps in the ferals' hides.
A team of second-rankers surrounded a massive feral beast, weaving in and out as their affinities overlapped—creating brief windows of opportunity for fatal strikes. Even first-rankers, though weaker, supported with precision strikes, diversions, and coordinated cover.
The town, which had just begun to breathe, was plunged back into chaos—but this time with bloodier stakes.
The battle dragged into hours.
The sun dipped lower.
The scent of charred fur, blood, and soul core residue filled the air.
And finally, inch by inch, the soul hunters began to gain ground. One by one, the ferals began to fall—under coordinated attacks and high-ranking hunters fighting with everything they had.
Victory was near again.
But just as the exhausted defenders began to believe they'd pushed through the worst…
A new terror surged from the northern ridge.
It wasn't just a few stragglers this time.
A concentrated force of Feral-ranked Soul Beasts appeared like a disciplined battalion, moving with uncanny coordination—a dark tide of organized carnage. Their heavy footfalls echoed across the northern zone, shattering any remaining illusion of safety.
Hunters on the northern front barely had time to scream before they were ripped apart, bodies hurled like ragdolls as the beasts smashed into the first defensive line.
Crack!
An earth shield shattered with dull rumbles
Screams rang out.
Fireballs and lances of lightning rained down from the town walls, but the ferals didn't slow. They charged, heads low, claws extended, jaws unhinged with rage.
"Fall back! FALL BACK—!"
The hunters scrambled, some dragging the injured behind, others abandoning formation entirely. Calls for reinforcements rang through the air:
"Northern wall's under siege! Send backup—NOW!"
But it was too late.
The northern flank crumbled, unable to hold its line. Hunters retreating from the front unknowingly led the ferals straight toward the northern wall, worsening the chaos.
From the southern wall, Elder Nyla vanished into a mist of wind, followed closely by Commander Roen, his broadsword ablaze with fire affinity. Alongside them, third-rank soul hunters raced into the fray—but some of them fell. A clash here, a cry there… until several of their soul cores winked out.
And then—
BOOM.
A section of the city shield cracked, spiderwebbing under the force of relentless soul beast strikes. Despite desperate efforts from defenders, feeding cores into the barrier faster than they could breathe, the cracks widened.
One final impact.
KRASH!
The northern wall split open.
A breach, just wide enough for a beast to squeeze through—but that was all they needed.
Feral soul beasts flooded in, roaring with triumph. Buildings crumbled under their stampede. Soul hunters were impaled on claws, their screams lost in the chaos.
The medical bay, once a sanctuary, became a target.
The scent of blood and weakness drew one particularly vicious feral—a quadruped with shadowy horns, its body wrapped in thick armor. It snarled low as it sniffed the air, stalking through the shattered alleyways, its glowing red eyes fixed on the camp.
Inside, the injured stirred in fear.
A group of newly awakened stood guard, clutching their soul weapons with trembling hands, others frozen. Among them was Billy Hampton, His weapon, a radiant blade, lay drawn—but unused.
The feral soul beast charged.
Its steps thundered against the earth, fangs gleaming, hunger in its eyes. It leapt, claws raised—aimed straight for Billy, who dropped to his knees, tears in his eyes.
He braced for death.
But it never came.
SHINK—!
The world froze for a breathless instant.
A blur tore across the battlefield. The beast's head jerked—no, it disappeared with a geyser of blood shooting into the air.
Its body fell, heavy and lifeless.
And there, standing in the crimson mist, was Kael.
His folding scythe was outstretched, the curved blade still glowing from the killing arc. His coat fluttered in the shockwave. His body was scorched and stained with beast blood.
In his left hand, he held the severed head of the beast like a trophy.
A shadow formed around him- his Umbral Shroud still active, dimming the air around his form.
Billy looked up, stunned. His lips parted, trembling.
"You…?"
Kael's gaze didn't meet him.
Instead, he turned to face the rest of the breached street, voice low and calm:
"No one dies here."
He dropped the head with a thud, stepped forward—and vanished again into shadow.