The first thing Ren learned about command? It meant jack shit when everyone was already doomed.

  The moment he barked his first order, reality hit like a hammer.

  A soldier to his left had his skull caved in before he could even lift his shield. Another was run through the gut, gurgling as blackened steel twisted inside him. There was no heroic last stand—only slaughter.

  Ren gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He needed a plan, fast.

  "Form up! Close ranks! Shields front!" he yelled.

  The remnants of the battalion stumbled into formation, barely keeping their footing on the blood-slick ground. Their eyes were filled with exhaustion and despair—they weren’t soldiers anymore. Just men waiting to die.

  Then the abyssals came.

  Shadowed figures surged forward, blades like obsidian fangs. They moved like liquid—silent, precise, and impossibly fast. One leaped, cleaving a man in half before his sword even left its sheath. Another tore through two soldiers in a blink, their bodies crumpling like puppets with cut strings.

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  Ren barely had time to react before one was already in front of him.

  No wasted movements. No hesitation.

  It swung.

  Ren barely ducked, feeling the wind from the blade graze his scalp. He retaliated, driving his sword into its ribs—but the damn thing didn’t even flinch.

  "Are you serious?" Ren hissed.

  Then it punched him—square in the chest.

  The impact sent him flying. His ribs cracked. Air fled his lungs. The world blurred.

  He hit the ground hard, rolling until he slammed into a corpse.

  Pain. So much pain.

  He gasped, forcing himself onto his elbows. Around him, the battalion was crumbling.

  Men screamed. Blood sprayed. Bodies fell.

  A soldier—just a kid, barely older than Kaede—tried to run. He didn't make it three steps before a blade speared through his back, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll.

  Ren’s fingers clenched into the dirt.

  This wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.

  The Mandate’s words echoed in his mind.

  Survive.

  Ren gritted his teeth. The battlefield was not fair. It was not glorious. It was a graveyard in the making.

  If he wanted to live, he had to think differently.

  No. He had to be different.