The shrine shuddered under the weight of the battle. Its great walls glimmered faintly, wards straining as volley after volley of enemy magic crashed against them. The defenders had dug in across the battlements—wizard, warrior, and creature alike, each link in the desperate chain keeping the tide at bay.
On the north wall, three wizards worked shoulder-to-shoulder, their voices blending as they poured transfiguration spells into the enemy ranks below. A simple rock, transfigured mid-air, turned into a writhing mass of barbed vines that lashed at angelic wings. Another flick of a wand turned falling rubble into jagged spears, impaling demons as they tried to climb the barricade.
"Keep the rhythm!" shouted a grizzled veteran with half his beard singed away. "Don't just throw curses, you'll burn out too fast!"
A younger witch, sweat streaking her face, gritted her teeth and obeyed. She transfigured a brick into a swarm of glass shards that cut through two winged attackers. "Like that?" she panted.
The veteran grunted approval. "Better. Think like the enemy—you're not blasting, you're building weapons faster than they can dodge."
Beneath them, the water churned violently. The mermen were there, their scaled forms darting just beneath the surface, tridents glinting. One surged upward, spearing a demon who had waded too far into the moat, dragging the shrieking creature beneath with a trail of bubbles. Another broke the surface to hurl a coral-encrusted spear at an angel circling overhead.
"Clear me a path!" a merman roared in guttural, accented English, his voice carrying strangely through the water.
Two nearby wizards nodded, blasting the shoreline with synchronized fire spells, the flames searing a temporary corridor of safety. With a flick of his finned tail, the merman leapt up and out, soaring higher than seemed possible, before crashing his trident down through the chest of a descending angel. Both tumbled into the water, and the pool frothed red.
On the southern approach, the terracotta warriors advanced in disciplined phalanxes, shields interlocking. They moved with eerie silence, unflinching even as spells shattered against their hardened clay bodies. A living demon slammed into one, claws tearing gouges across its chestplate—but another warrior stepped forward, impaling the creature with mechanical precision.
A wizard captain ran alongside them, wand snapping out orders with crackling beams of light. "Rotate the line! Keep the shield wall tight! They'll break us if they scatter you!"
One soldier fell, its chest cracked apart by an angel's spear. Without hesitation, the others stepped over it, re-closing ranks as though the fallen had never existed. Their relentlessness bolstered the nearby human fighters, who cheered and pressed in closer.
A group of mermen suddenly burst from the water, meeting the terracotta soldiers at the shoreline. For a heartbeat, the living and the crafted regarded one another—a strange alliance. Then a merman tossed a jagged net of kelp upward, tangling the wings of an angel swooping toward the clay soldiers. A terracotta warrior stepped in seamlessly, running its sword through the angel as it thrashed in the weeds.
"Not bad for stone-men," the merman muttered, fangs bared in a smile before diving back beneath the waves.
Elsewhere, atop the inner wall of the shrine, a cluster of defenders struggled to hold a breach. The enemy had blasted open a gap, and demons were pouring through. A young wizard screamed as a claw grazed his chest, but before the killing blow could fall, a terracotta warrior seized the demon in a crushing grip, dragging it back into the choke-point.
"Seal it, seal it, NOW!" a witch shrieked, hands shaking as she pointed her wand at the fractured wall. Another wizard joined her, both shouting incantations until molten stone spilled upward, re-hardening into a crude patch. The demons clawed at it from the other side, but for now, it held.
The witch sagged against the battlement, gasping. "We're not going to last like this…"
The veteran from earlier appeared beside her, wand raised, face grim but steady. "We don't need to last forever," he said. "Just long enough."
At the shoreline again, the water erupted—five mermen dragging a captured angel beneath the waves. Its wings thrashed uselessly as they ripped and tore at it with tridents and knives, bubbles streaking upward. A wizard above the moat raised his wand, hesitated, then finally shouted encouragement down into the churning pool:
"Finish it! Make them fear the water!"
The angel's scream gurgled out and then was gone. The mermen re-emerged, scarred and bloody, but triumphant, their tridents raised high before diving back under.
The shrine groaned like a living thing under the pressure of battle. The walls spat sparks, the defenders were stretched thin, but each small group found ways to hold. Wizards transfigured weapons out of nothing, mermen ambushed enemies with aquatic ferocity, terracotta warriors held lines that men could not, and together just barely they kept the storm from swallowing the shrine whole.
***
The enemy pressed against the shrine's defenses like an endless tide. From the ground, the demons hurled themselves forward with animalistic hunger, talons scraping against the glowing wards. They didn't complain, they didn't question. They clawed and tore, even as fire scorched their hides and arrows pinned them to the earth.
One demon snarled at another as they pulled back to regroup after a failed push. "They bleed… but they don't break."
The other bared fangs, its voice like gravel dragged across steel. "They'll break. Walls always break."
Overhead, angels wheeled through the smoky skies, their wings cutting through fire and ash. Where the demons fought with savagery, the angels fought with precision—lances of silver light skewering defenders on the battlements. They spoke rarely, their discipline forged in something far older than the mortals they fought against.
"They've bound warriors of clay and stone to their cause," one angel muttered, spear wet with gore. "They cling to tricks."
"Let them cling," another replied coldly, shaking blood from her feathers. "The longer they hold, the sharper the fall when they finally break."
At the rear of the battlefield, behind the ranks of surging soldiers, stood one of the generals. His wings were enormous, feathers like burnished bronze, and his armor gleamed faintly with celestial light. Unlike his brethren, he was calm—eyes fixed not only on the battlefield before him, but on the horizon.
A subordinate landed beside him, kneeling low. "General Seraphion. The shrine holds. Their coordination is unnatural. Mortals and beasts together it slows our advance."
Seraphion's gaze did not waver. His voice was deep, resonant, as though carried by the weight of countless battles. "Have we received word from Europe? The anchor?"
The subordinate's jaw tightened. "No, my lord. The last report said the resistance still holds. They were reinforced. The battle rages still."
A faint flicker of irritation crossed the general's face gone in an instant. "Then press harder here. If Europe does not fall, England must. The shrine weakens, even if they deny it. Their wards will not hold forever."
In the distance, demons howled, rallying for another charge. The air filled with their frenzy, their hatred, their blind hunger. Among them, a captain bellowed, claws dripping with blood.
"Push again! The clay-men crack! Tear the walls down! Eat their screams!"
The angels did not howl. They tightened their formations, wings spreading, eyes fixed on the wards. Above, one raised his blade, and a ripple passed through the sky as their ranks shifted in unison, preparing to dive.
"They fight with desperation," one angel murmured, voice cold as frost. "That desperation will consume them."
And from the rear, Seraphion's voice rang out like a death knell:
"They cannot last forever. No mortal line does. Grind them down. Every second we endure, their strength falters."
The command spread through the ranks, carried on wings and whispers alike. And with renewed fury, the enemy surged forward, the demons below and the angels above, tightening their noose around the shrine.
***
The battle raged without pause. Blades clashed, arrows sang, and the air was thick with smoke and blood. Yet in the heart of chaos, the world seemed to stop as a shadow gathered over the shrine.
The storm came fast—unnaturally fast. Clouds swelled black above, swallowing the moonlight. The crackle of lightning licked across the sky, illuminating for an instant the twisted, grotesque figure floating above the battlefield. It was vast, wrong, a body wrought of death and willpower, flesh and bone knitted together by a forbidden hand. Its eyes blazed like green fire, and its presence pressed down like a mountain upon the warring armies.
When the abomination opened its mouth, the voice was not hollow. It was ancient, deep, commanding.
"My name is Merlin and you know of me, a terrible magic has brought me back cast by a foul man."
The name struck like a hammer blow. Even in the din of war, it carried to every ear. Angels stilled mid-flight, their spears trembling in their grasp. Demons faltered in their charge, their snarls turning to growls of unease. And the defenders—wizards, goblins, centaurs, and mermen alike froze, staring upward in stunned silence.
Merlin raised one gnarled hand to the heavens.
"And this war ends now."
The words were not shouted—they were declared. A sentence carved into reality itself. Then, a chant poured from his lips, guttural and old, laced with raw command. The storm above answered.
Lightning shrieked from the sky in jagged torrents. Bolts slammed into the front lines of the demonic horde, tearing them to ash and scattering their blackened corpses across the mud. Angels were ripped from the air as the storm speared them, their wings set ablaze as they plummeted screaming. Again and again the storm hammered down, until the battlefield beyond the shrine was lit in a violent white glare.
For the first time, the tide of enemies staggered backward.
Merlin descended slowly, power radiating from him in waves. When his feet struck the shrine wall, the very stone groaned under the impact. His burning gaze swept over the defenders bloodied, battered, half-broken—and he gave no speech, no command. Only his presence, his fury, his declaration.
And it was enough.
The humans roared, their voices cracking with newfound ferocity. Goblins slammed their axes to their shields in a brutal rhythm, surging forward into the melee. Mermen breached higher from the floodwaters, dragging foes beneath the waves with ruthless efficiency. Even the Terracotta Warriors, silent and unyielding, seemed to move with sharper precision.
The defenders pressed forward as one, their despair burned away by the lightning in the sky.
And then, beside him, Morpheus appeared. Cloaked in shadow, his face half-lit by the glow of stormfire, he stepped up to stand at Merlin's side. No words passed between them. Morpheus only dipped his head once, as if acknowledging the terrible price he had paid for this moment.
"This will not end the war truly do you think even winning here will save humanity?" Merlin scoffed as Kazuki joined them
Morpheus shook his head and laughed, "No but, you being here will prevent them from overtaking after I leave."
"Leaving?" Kazuki asked in horror, "You abandon us now?"
Morpheus shook his head, "No my friend, I leave to win us the war."
"This will all be over soon."
Though for some reason Kazuki could have sworn Morpheus looked almost sad as he left.