The rhino's face twisted in confusion, its eyes searching for understanding amidst the chaos.

  But there was no time for comprehension.

  Three more shots — hissing silently through the fog.

  Wet, visceral squelches echoed across the battlefield, punctuated by the sharp cries of agony.

  One after another, the rats tumbled from the rhino's shoulders, their bodies writhing and convulsing against the cracked stone below.

  Their small frames still hidden beneath the tower shield, but...

  Their hands were gone.

  Severed clean, with splintered bone and shredded muscle trailing ribbons of crimson.

  One lay writhing, its skull punctured where an eye once was.

  The alloy round had punched through its cheek, leaving a trail of shattered teeth and dripping gray matter.

  Blind and trembling, it clawed at the ground in frantic desperation, its fingers scraping against dirt and rubble.

  The stench of urine mixed with blood and smoke as it pissed itself, limbs shaking uncontrollably, trapped in a state of primal terror.

  "Oy! I can't fuckin see lad! It's so bloody dark. Arghhhhhh!"

  A guttural scream tore from its throat, raw and unyielding, echoing with the anguish of sight stolen and unending pain.

  Blood pooled beneath them, staining the dust and rubble with slick patterns of carnage.

  The ballista lay abandoned, toppled yet unbroken.

  With the rats quiet literally disarmed — their destructive contraption finally falling silent.

  Midi and Dilim wasted no time.

  The moment the ballista stopped firing, they moved, their massive frames weaving through the ruins with startling agility, searching for the perfect moment to make their intervention count.

  They left the rhino staggering where it stood, its massive frame swaying blindly as it stumbled through the haze.

  The lion and the wolves faces were twisted with fury, scowls etched deep as they heard the squealing throes of the rats.

  That weapon had been their spearhead, their anchor in the assault.

  Now, its silence was a death knell, one that rippled through the battlefield like a grim omen.

  Ragta, still locked in combat with the lion and wolves, panted heavily, his muscles trembling from strain.

  But there was something else — an understanding.

  A human had assisted him at the crucial moment.

  He didn’t need to look around to know.

  Cain’s precision was unmistakable.

  Gratitude flared in his eyes for only a heartbeat before he turned, his earthen prosthetic arm coiling with prana.

  The twin whips in his hands snapped to life, crackling with raw power as they spiraled around him.

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  With a flourish, he brought them together, weaving them into a cocoon of spinning tendrils.

  Chains and spike intertwined, layer after layer, creating a barrier that thickened with every heartbeat.

  The lion and wolves staggered back, their eyes narrowing with predatory hesitation.

  The cocoon expanded, spinning faster with each passing second, its size growing as they continued to retreat.

  Midi and Dilim didn’t hesitate.

  They weren’t strangers to combat — their instincts were honed through blood and iron.

  Their eyes locked onto the pack of wolves, and in that brief exchange of glances, a decision was made.

  One of the wolves was to far from its team, separated just enough to be isolated.

  A barely perceptible flash of movement — Midi and Dilim crossed their swords with a sharp clang.

  Sparks erupted from the clash, illuminating the fog with streaks of ember-like trails.

  The wolf staggered back, caught off guard by the synchronized strike, and stumbled straight into Ragta's cocoon of barbed whips.

  His back met the barrier with a dull thud, and for a breathless moment, the battlefield stilled.

  Then, the cocoon snapped inward, the whips unraveling with the ferocity of a thousand razors.

  Flesh peeled back like damp paper — bones shattered with sickening cracks.

  Blood sprayed out in crimson arcs, painting the ground in visceral splatters.

  Bits of meat and shards of bone flung out in all directions, peppering the earth with the evidence of his demise.

  There was no howl of pain. Only silence as the whips retracted, snapping back into their protective coil.

  The ground where the wolf had stood was nothing more than a wet stain, steaming in the cold air.

  Midi and Dilim did not flinch. They stepped forward, eyes locked on the next target.

  Barely having a moment to breathe, their eyes still gleamed with the afterglow of victory when the lion struck

  Its palm cut through the fog like a ram, slamming into their backs with enough force to send them stumbling forward.

  They crashed into Ragta's cocoon of whips, the barbed tendrils lashing out instinctively.

  Flesh shredded upon contact; skin peeled back in jagged strips, revealing the raw muscle beneath.

  Their faces were marred with deep gashes, crimson lines tracing paths across their features.

  But despite the brutal lacerations, their movements were barely hindered.

  Pain flickered across their expressions but was swiftly swallowed by resolve.

  This wasn’t the time to flinch or falter.

  Cain watched from his vantage point, his eyes icy and unblinking as the scene unfolded.

  Every action, every consequence unraveled before him in that span of a dozen seconds.

  His gaze flicked to the golemite that had been observing the battle just minutes before.

  It had retreated, its metallic frame slipping back into the shadows.

  Cain had half-expected it to charge, to join the bloodbath.

  But instinct had won out — its logic-driven nature overriding any sense of pride or aggression.

  It had recognized its own limitations and prioritized survival.

  No glory. No vengeance. Just pure, mechanical preservation.

  Cain almost respected it for that.

  'I guess we can settle that guy once this fiasco ends... Or what's left of us. Maybe it'll be just me in the end.'

  The fog still clung to the battlefield, dense and heavy, obscuring everything beyond ten meters.

  But through it, Cain spotted the ballista, its silhouette etched against the distant ruins.

  A smirk touched his lips. He didn’t know if he could operate it flawlessly, but he knew enough.

  Enough to make it work and make it operational.

  Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, his body moving like a shadow through the haze.

  His movements were fluid, almost predatory, mirroring the sleekness of a panther on the hunt.

  His arms swung back, pushing momentum forward, legs pounding against the broken terrain with practiced rhythm.

  The night had already begun to bleed into the sky, shadows creeping along the shattered landscape, swallowing light in jagged bites.

  He moved with the fading dusk, slipping through pools of darkness as if they were his own territory.

  His awareness never wavered. His eyes scanned the battlefield even as he ran, the scope of his thermal vision locking onto heat signatures through the fog as it started cooling down.

  That’s when he saw it. A flicker of light — heat and cold colliding in a violent clash.

  Midi and Dilim, their silhouettes blazing with elemental power, had managed to stave off the lion, but they were struggling.

  Cain zoomed in, his finger tapping the side of his visor to enhance the view.

  He saw the slight flare of their movements, the subtle shift of their stances.

  They were asking for him — signaling for his support.

  They needed enchantments.

  Cain’s hands moved with practiced ease, weaving threads of magic through the air.

  Energy crackled at his rifle, shimmering with a ghostly blue light before firing off in sleek, glimmering arcs.

  The enchantments slammed into their weapons like spectral chains, binding and enhancing their strikes.

  Fire erupted from Midi’s blade, cascading in torrents of flame that danced along its edge.

  Dilim’s sword shimmered with frost, trails of icy mist trailing behind each swing, freezing anything it touched.

  Cain's heart hammered in his chest, but his hands were steady.

  He had given them what they needed.

  'I just need you to win.'