The Behemoth Horns on the watchtowers screamed again, their deep, agonizing frequency nearly drowned out by a deafening clap of thunder from the storm clouds above.
"Third wave! They've breached the clearing!" a scout shrieked from the highest parapet, his voice cracking with sheer terror, his arm pointing frantically into the dark, swirling abyss beyond the gates.
Sol didn't hesitate. The exhaustion that had been dragging at his bones was instantly incinerated by a fresh, violent surge of adrenaline, his exhausted muscles screaming in protest, but the Sun Core in his solar plexus flared instantly, flooding his body with a fresh surge of refined essence.
He gripped the sapphire hilt of the Sky-Render, his silver-crimson eyes flaring as he kicked his muscles into gear. He prepared to vault right back over the walls and plunge into the meat grinder.
But before his boots could leave the petrified wood, a heavy, unyielding hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
