CHAINS AND NIGHTMARES

The news that mio was stable and the survival of Asimil and Luce had been a glimmer of light in an almost total darkness. But that light seemed distant, otherworldly. On the Eastern Front, there were no victories to celebrate. Only a war of attrition that they were slowly losing. 

Even with the death of Nyx, the hordes of the Void kept coming out. Day after day, wave after wave. But Mitsu, with his analytical mind, realized something. — It's not random — he said one night, as they looked at a tactical map. — There is a pattern. A flow. Every twelve hours, a massive attack. Like a tide. —

— Legion — Lyra whispered, her eyes closed as she felt the streams of corrupted mana. — His energy signature has returned to this region. It is just as some describe. Now, the true General has returned, and the hordes have tripled. —

— Then we'll stop being the prey  — Ikel snarled, slamming his fist on the table.  — If we stay here defending, we'll be wiped out by exhaustion. We have to hunt it down.  —

It was a suicidal plan: leave the few defenses they had to go deep into enemy territory and cut off the snake's head. But it was their only option. Under cover of night, the team of three slipped behind enemy lines.

After hours of stealth, they saw a camp in the distance. But it was no mere camp. It was an army. A city of tents made of monster skin and siege towers of corrupted bone. Thousands, tens of thousands of Void creatures were preparing for a final offensive.

— We have to inform the Alliance — said Mitsu, his voice a tense whisper.

They fled from there, but unfortunately, it was too late.

As they raced through a rocky gorge, the world around them melted away. Reality faded, and each was thrown into a personal prison. Nocturne, the General of Silence, had intercepted them.

Ikel found himself back in the alley of his childhood. He saw his sister Lucia, smiling, and saw the shadows approaching her. He ran to save her, but his legs were leaden. he watched them take her away, again and again and again, his scream of helplessness the only sound in her nightmare.

Mitsu was in an endless arena, facing a shadowy version of himself that was always a little faster, a little stronger. Each defeat was accompanied by a mocking laughter that resembled his own. It was a nightmare of his own arrogance, the humiliation of never being the best.

And Lyra was in a hospital of white light. Hundreds of wounded surrounded her, begging for her help. But when she tried to use her healing magic, it would turn to dust, and her hands would heal nothing. It was the nightmare of utter helplessness for a healer. She was on the edge of a precipice, on the verge of falling into despair.

But it was in that abyss that his analytical mind found a flaw. Pain is an emotion. Despair, an inefficiency. He managed to react in time, shattering the illusion just as his feet were on the edge of the real abyss. He awoke from the nightmare with a gasp, and the ripple of his psychic awakening shook Mitsu and Ikel, freeing them as well.

Nocturne, a slender figure wrapped in robes that seemed to absorb sound, staggered, surprised that they had broken his mind control.

— Now! —Ikel roared, launching himself into the attack.

Seeing her prey cornered, Nocturne smiled and made a high-pitched scream, a sound not of fear, but a signal.

Out of nowhere, magical chains burst out of the shadows and coiled around Lyra, completely immobilizing her.

— Did they think it was that simple? — A new figure appeared. It was Kaelus, the Jailer, a General covered in armor made of cages and shackles. It was a counter-emboscada.

— Don't move — Kaelus said, his voice the sound of rusted metal. — Or your precious healer will pay the consequences. —

Ikel and Mitsu froze. Kaelus approached the trapped Lyra and, in an act of pure horror, licked her cheek as if it were a trophy. At that instant, surprise chains sprouted from the ground and caught Mitsu. Nocturne lunged at him, her hand transformed into a claw of shadows, ready to rip out his heart.

But a sword got in the way.

It was no ordinary sword. It was a gigantic claymore, as wide as a man's torso, that appeared out of nowhere and blocked Nocturne's blow with a metallic clang.

A brooding figure landed softly between them. It was Sylas, the Phantom Swordsman.— Two Generals against a team of three rookies — he said, his voice a tired whisper but full of power. — It doesn't look like a fair fight. Let's balance the scales a bit. —