Page 128 of Warlord's Plaything

We didn’t surprise them.

We walked right into a trap.

The first explosion hits from the east, blasting a chunk of the battlefield apart.

Flames devour the front line of rebels.

Screams rise, deafening, agonized, bodies hitting the ground as fire licks at their skin.

Smoke billows into the air, thick, suffocating, cutting off our sight.

The Council was waiting for us.

Kaelith was waiting.

"FALL BACK!"

Varian’s voice roars through the battlefield.

But it’s already too late.

The Council’s forces come pouring in from the side, cutting off our retreat.

Dark elf warriors in elite armor, their faces unreadable beneath their helmets, their formation precise, merciless.

A second wave of soldiers presses in from the west.

Then a third.

We are surrounded.

The execution square, once our battleground, has become our tomb.

Kaelith played us.

We came ready for war—but he came ready to wipe us out.

A snarl curls my lips.

"We keep fighting!"I hiss through my teeth, already spinning, already blocking another incoming strike.

My sword meets steel, a clash of sparks, a brutal dance of survival.

Xyron is at my side, his blade slashing through the next attacker, his movements precise, controlled—but I can see the fury in him.

He knows what I know.

This was never meant to be a battle.

This was meant to be a slaughter.

"Hira!"

I turn just in time to see Varian, his face slick with blood, his blade barely blocking the strike of a dark elf captain pressing in.

"We have to regroup!"he shouts, voice hoarse."We have to get the fuck out of here!"

I want to deny it.

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