Breaching The Gates

The distant roar was a data input signaling the immediate commencement of the predicted hostile engagement. Asverta's whispered "It's starting" was merely a confirmation of the inevitable.

For a fraction of a second, the Guild Hall was frozen in a state of collective system shock. Then, chaos erupted. An adventurer, his face pale, burst back through the doors, his voice a high-pitched shriek.

"City Guard Gate! The west gate! They're attacking the west gate!"

The announcement shattered the last vestiges of debate. The system, previously fractured by internal conflict, now unified under a single, overwhelming external pressure: survival. The Guild Master, his face grim, began shouting orders, his voice no longer trembling but sharp with the authority of command. The City Guard Captain was already gone, bellowing for his men as he ran into the street. The scarred mercenary leader gave a sharp, barking laugh. "Showtime, boys! Let's go earn our coin!"

Adventurers grabbed their weapons. Mercenaries formed tight, professional squads. The entire hall became a river of bodies, steel, and desperate, focused energy, all flowing towards the city's three vulnerable points.

Asverta turned to me, her white pupils dilating slightly in the chaotic torchlight. "The mercenaries hold the north gate. That is where I will be." A thin smile that did not reach her eyes touched her lips. "They might require a bit of 'encouragement' to cooperate effectively." A teasing undertone, even amidst the escalating crisis, was present in her voice. "Be careful, Einar. Don't... burn yourself."

She turned, her purple robes swaying, and disappeared into the throng of mercenaries moving towards their assigned position. She was an interesting variable. A powerful, unpredictable one.

Now, a decision was required. Which gate required the most immediate observation for potential system failure?

The City Guard gate, Einar's logic dictated. Their rigid structure presents a predictable, and thus potentially most fragile, point of defense. It is the optimal observation point to analyze the initial stages of systemic failure.

But another, less logical thought intruded. A series of data points: Rovy's illogical cheerfulness. Bane's quiet competence. Sylv's frustrating, persistent attempts to impose an emotional framework. They were assigned to the Adventurer's Guild gate. The east gate.

Go to them, Nora's voice whispered, a fragile, desperate plea. They need help.

Let them die, V sneered. Their weakness is a liability. The show will be better from a distance.

I processed the conflicting inputs. The logical course of action was to observe the weakest link in the city's defense. However, observing the performance of known variables under extreme duress would yield a more precise and valuable data set on their operational limits. The east gate, therefore, was also a logical choice. The justification was sound. It was sufficient.

I began to move, my path taking me not west, but east.

The streets of Raven were a system in collapse. Panicked civilians, their faces masks of terror, ran in every direction, their movements inefficient and random. They were obstacles, unpredictable variables that clogged the arteries of the city. I moved through them, a cold, steady point in a chaotic, swirling current. The sounds of battle grew louder—the distant, rhythmic thump of a battering ram against wood, the high-pitched whistle of incoming arrows, and the desperate, ragged shouts of men.

The air grew thick with the scent of smoke and fear. A building near the eastern wall was already on fire, casting a hellish, flickering orange glow that painted the faces of the fleeing crowd.

I arrived at the east gate to a scene of controlled, desperate violence. The adventurers, for all their lack of formal discipline, were fighting with a ferocity born of defending their home. Arrows rained down from the top of the wall, loosed by archers who leaned out to take their shots before ducking back behind the stone battlements. Below, a line of heavily armored warriors, Bane among them, held the gate itself, their shields locked, their bodies a living barricade against the crushing weight of the goblin horde outside.

I saw Rovy, a blur of motion along the top of the wall, her daggers flashing as she darted between archers, cutting down goblins who managed to hook a grappling line and scramble over the edge. I saw Sylv, a little further down, her movements a fluid dance of deadly efficiency. She would loose an arrow, a goblin would fall from a siege ladder, and she would already have another arrow nocked before the body hit the ground.

Their defense was functional. But it was not sustainable. The sheer number of attackers was a relentless, grinding pressure. The gate, made of heavy oak and reinforced with iron, groaned and shuddered with each impact from the ram, splinters flying into the air. The line of warriors holding it stumbled with each blow.

Then, a new sound cut through the din. A low, guttural chant, rising from the heart of the goblin army. It was not their usual yipping and shrieking. This was something else. Something coordinated.

I felt it before I saw it. A massive, sickening spike in the ambient mana field. The air itself seemed to curdle, to grow thick and heavy.

"Magic!" Sylv screamed from the wall, her voice sharp with alarm.

A blinding orange light erupted from the forest, a sphere of raw, chaotic energy that streaked through the air. It was not aimed at the wall. It was aimed at the gate.

It moved with a horrifying speed. The adventurers on the wall could only stare, their faces illuminated by the approaching doom. The warriors below braced, their shields raised in a final, futile act of defiance.

I saw Bane, at the center of the line. He did not cower. He roared, a final, guttural cry of pure defiance, and pushed his entire body's weight into the gate, a human anchor against a magical tide.

The world dissolved into fire and sound.