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He decided to send Artur with the ducal heir and Mina. The escort that Myriarch Purev sent was formidable—Anneliese had scrutinized all of them to watch for traitors, and one of them was an A-rank mage. Even still, he wanted one of his own men with his cousin, and Artur was still minorly depleted from protecting Argrave back then alongside maintaining his enchanted gear. If Rovostar proved trouble… Artur would stop that.

“Orion, Anneliese, and I are going to be standing at the front of the action,” Argrave said, tapping his chest. “We have more endurance and power, combat-wise, than anyone else. Even still, I need to receive an immediate response if I call upon your magic,” he informed the Magisters. “If I yell your name, and then ‘S-rank spell, right side,’ I need an immediate action. Inform me about how much magic you have left after so I can make a judgment about who to call upon.”

“Done,” Vasilisa assured him.

“I’m a little spent. Can manage two S-rank spells at best,” Moriatran shrugged. “But… done, certainly. Let’s hope you’re not forgetful. And that we live through this…”

Argrave looked at Anneliese and Orion in turn. Objectively speaking, they were the perfect fits for the front of the action. Argrave now had power in spades, and had earned some endurance in the elven realm by creating hundreds of blood echoes—plus, he had a backlog of magic in the Blessing of Supersession. He hoped to preserve it, however. Anneliese would gain some magic back for every spell he cast near her, meaning her endurance was near as high as his. And Orion… he’d already proved his monstrous capability. That still didn’t put him at ease.

Argrave suppressed a sigh before those he led and focused back. “We get one small benefit, being at the rear of the formation… we don’t have to join the initial fighting. Instead, the elves have to do the complicated retreat.” He looked around at the redwood trees above them. “We wait here for their arrival. In time, all the forces in the northern Bloodwoods will be stirred, engaged in a life-or-death struggle.”

He looked back down at his men. The Veidimen honor guard remained ready and able, as ever, but he wanted them to be more than that.

“Know this,” Argrave said, feeling inspired. “No one will soon forget that it was us that beat back a god to the realm he came from. And since you’re taller than all those other elves, I’m sure it’ll be most of you that are remembered.”

He elicited laughter from a few, and that was enough.

“Now… hurry up and wait,” Argrave looked around him. The trees near seemed to have more depth to them. And that was more than an empty thought.

#####

That which came from the breach in the northern forest dominated all sight. They were a disorganized legion of monsters, uniform in purpose but varied in strategy. Whether sky or land, Kirel Qircassia’s divine servants filled the gap between every tree.

High up in the branches, a purple fleshy orb with eight white wings on its center and one eye on its front flapped up and down, sagging and then rising like a jellyfish in water. Everywhere it went, black winged creatures poured from its bottom like sand from a cut bag. Though they all fell freely, in moments they took to life and darted towards the elves in the canopy.

These small black winged creatures had weak bodies, like frail bats… yet their beaks were sharp and hard as metal, and they dived towards their enemies’ throats, eyes, and other soft parts with tremendous speed, digging in deep enough to sever limbs or pierce heads. They seemed to die upon impact, yet when they did rose up again as black smoke, returning to the purple fleshy orb. There, they were absorbed and born again.

The elves were not fools, and their arrows sought the creature that spawned these dive bombers. The purple orb took the blows one and all, seeming to exist without pain. Finally, a mage swung out from the high branches by a wire, a spell prepared that created a mana ripple as it finished. A single forked bolt of yellow lightning slammed upon the top of the demon’s head, leaving a burning gash. The winged orb drifted down, dead and deflated. As it fell smoking, the whole of its body disintegrated into the black dive-bombing bats in one final act of defiance.

And it was not alone in its hunt, either. One creature of purple flesh formed a torso, arms, and wings, with a great eye upon its chest. It had a bow of wind in hand and plucked the white feathers from its wings to use as arrows. It was a master marksman, pulling its bow back again and again to release deadly volleys upon the elven armies. Whenever retaliation came, it maneuvered all too skillfully in elegant dodges.

Another airborne servant almost seemed human, though its arms were wings and it held a gargantuan spear with ape-like feet, soaring through the sky and showing prowess with that weapon far beyond what seemed possible. They were Kirel Qircassia’s servants, and befitting the god of land and sky, those flying seemed masters of all levels of the battlefield. They hunted the elves without word, without mercy, and without pause.

With the steady advance of these monstrosities, those in the canopies of the redwoods did not begrudgingly retreat. Indeed, if this invasion were given time to progress, this would be no feigned retreat.

Things were no different on the ground. Hordes of ant-like creatures swarmed the ground, their bodies thick carapaces that resembled shards of pottery. They acted in complete unity, and whenever resistance was met their bodies came together to form giants of earthenware. Some of these giants were ten feet tall, while others were one hundred. These constructs rained blows powerful enough to punch through steel. Any attacks against them killed one or two ants out of hundreds, and soon enough more took their place.

When facing such a flood of opponents, it could be well forgiven that the elves retreated. And given the nature of their foes, it could be, too, overlooked that all the elves moved in a very particular manner. If the elven forces were a line holding against the forces of Kirel Qircassia, that line seemed to come into itself as it fell back, becoming thicker and thicker. And all the forces on the outside converged towards one particular point… almost an epicenter.

In the elves’ retreat, and in Kirel’s haste, the other residents of the forest were pushed back so far they were forced to fight. Great wolves that seemed to become wind tore apart the winged monstrosities. Felines with tails fifty feet long swept at the earthenware giants, killing the ants by the dozen. Giants acted in reckless defense of their children, throwing logs and rocks big enough to crater the earth. The elves seemed adept at navigating this, but Kirel’s forces were not so lucky.

Ever so slowly, the elven forces that had been spread thin centralized in a single force. Commanders met with commanders, coordinating and organizing. Like a puzzle piece fitting just right, Tumens took their place in both the canopies and the ground. Elven wire traps, though absent in the retreat, now dismembered foe after foe, giving pause to the divine servants’ relentless hunt.

Then, deafening cracks echoed through the woods. It spurred instinctual caution—redwoods falling could be a devastating event, killing any no matter how large. Many looked to the source of the noise. A redwood tree was cracking, though instead of horizontally… this tree split vertically. A gash suddenly split the tree down from the top to bottom just as a hand came out, gripping the side of the tree.

Soon, the other trees began to split, too, all along the sides of the elven armies. Though the earthenware ants could take forms dwarfing giants, these things that emerged from the trees… they dwarfed all save the redwoods easily, standing far, far above any in the forest. They were the elven gods. Everyone, even the animals, seemed to know this.

And at once, the momentum shifted.

#####

Argrave watched with pride as the elven gods emerged from the redwoods one after the other. Their movements were strong, vital—not at all like he’d seen them upon their first manifestation. They were here now, well and truly. They could enact much of their power. And that was the only key Argrave had to keeping this vast forest clean.

All of the Tumens in the forest had come together at this point, and now gathered closely in what was a densely packed formation that vaguely resembled a square. Argrave raised his arm and pointed straight through the center of it.

“Now… we drive the spike right to Kirel’s breach,” Argrave declared to his men, who already moved to take their place at the back of the elven formation. He followed, Orion and Anneliese at his side.

As if responding to his words, Ghan, patriarch of all the elven gods, stepped forward. Shortly after, the elves blew their great horns. Like this, god and mortal marched in lockstep, death left in their wake. Though the strategy proved to be a resounding success now, barging through all opposition without barriers… soon, they would come to Kirel Qircassia’s lieutenants. The elven gods would do battle with them, but the tide of enemies that they broke past now would surely catch up.

It would be Argrave to meet them, guarding the backend. And there, the Qircassian Coalition would finally know the Kingdom of Vasquer as its enemy.