"I have to admit, I'm positively terrified just looking at it." Leila shuddered, taking off her helmet. A red light shone from inside her gorget onto her scaly skin.

She and Aranea stood on the wall of the shield station overlooking the plains below, dotted with hundreds of bunkers and pillboxes and crisscrossed with trenches. Vehicles of the Reclamation Army either took their secured position, getting entrenched, or remained concealed in safe locations for the time being. Thousands of defenders manned the front line, preparing to repel the approaching onslaught.

Warlord Janine and her troops held the center, flanked and supported by the state's elite forces. Aranea could see the large form of her leader, standing on a barricade, her enormous axe resting on her shoulder, and the weapon replacing her other paw ready to spew flames. Janine no doubt smiled, rejoicing at the prospect of abandoning schemes and entering her natural element. Lying One walked beside the soldiers, chanting prayers and offering blessings.

On the eastern mountain range was located the sole artillery brigade, guarded by Warlord Martyshkina and her pack. Aranea wondered if Olesya was calm as she looked to the north. She tried to contact Olesya to apologize for her outburst, but her friends evaded her. From what Tiny had gathered, the wolf hag had reconciled with her pack and restored the previous order, encouraging scouts to lead the trainings and relying on their opinion in implementing the changes. As promised, physical beatings disappeared, substituted by intense manual labor to punish slackers or those daring to break the discipline. Stay safe. Messaged Aranea and whispered a prayer to the Spirits.

Even after fifteen days since their arrival, Valerye Foulsnout and her forces still hadn't arrived. They had kept their allies updated about their hunt for Chort and had promised to arrive by tomorrow, as Ivar had forced them to halt their pursuit and take a break to rest and resupply. Watching the unfolding situation, Aranea pondered whether the blue wyrm had been outplayed.

The Resistance had responded, and they had come in numbers this time. Thick smoke covered the entire horizon, rising all the way to the sky and obscuring the view. Through it, even here, Aranea still heard the rumbles, roars, and screeching of working engines, stamping boots, and moving treads. Unleashed recon drones flew into the encroaching sea of darkness to get the scope of the hostile forces but were speared by precise fire. Information came that the forward scout parties had been wiped out by two individuals. One was identified: Chort, the blasted mercenary of the Resistance, who had eluded the hunters. The second remained unknown.

"Use your power to take away the fear, if you are so bothered," Aranea threw carelessly, squinting her eyes, trying to discern anything.

Small tremors reached their position, making her unsure what was causing them, but with each passing minute they intensified, and soon a pebble dropped from a slope. Then another. She relayed her concerns to Command, and an operator assured her that there was no mass underground assault incoming.

"You think it would be for the best?" Leila's voice trembled as she looked at the mirrored surface of her helmet. Aranea turned to her when the familiar light shone from her eyes, reflecting from the surface. Its edge touched the wolf hag, but today her will resisted the urge to kneel and submit. A shiver ran through Leila, and she started to intone words. "I…" she stammered, interrupted by Aranea grabbing her ear and breaking the concentration. The woman took a step back, almost losing her helmet, and pressed an eye to her ear, blinking. "What was that for? I followed your advice."

"I was joking with you…" Aranea took a deep breath. "Sorry about confusing you at such a serious moment. Who knows what might happen to you if you use your own power on yourself?"

"It'll be fine," Leila dropped, scratching her ear. Her voice quivered. "When the old demon used to force me to punish myself, I cheated him by ordering myself not to experience fear or pain." She gave a fake smile, watching the wide patch of darkness consume the north.

"Listen, fear is crucial to survival. Without it, what'll stop you, me, or Scarred One from charging headlong into the aimed guns and dying?"

"Discipline," grumbled the shaman. "I've had my share of mental manipulation. Cheap tricks won't find purchase in me, Wolf Hag."

"If you are frightened, take deep breaths."

"I know how to manage fear," Leila said stubbornly. "The old demon often sent me on various missions. It's just…" She looked around, pointing at the troops taking positions and the officers barking orders. "…How am I supposed to protect all my friends? I trained my unit; I know their worth… but what if I make a wrong move and they die?"

"If you know their worth, then you know we don't need protection," Sonya snorted and joined them, saluting to the Normies. "This is our home, sister. Butchery is our trade, and no one can compete with us in it! Trust in yourself, as we trust in you."

"Stick with your orders. Ours is a simple task of guarding the shield station." Aranea nodded at the massive structure. "Rely on those fighting beside you." She smiled. "If the Resistance is tough enough to reach us despite our numbers, we're doomed for sure. I'm joking again, of course." She slapped Leila on the shoulder. "Sonya, Leila, Scarred One to position. We wouldn't want our guests to feel unwanted, would we?" She put on her helmet, prompting Leila to do the same. "Anyone spotted without their head protection will regret not dying."

Two medium-defense turrets placed atop defensive towers near the complex announced their readiness. Alek and his sniper team hurried to the cliffs overlooking the defenders; Ursico oversaw the final preparations, and in their rear, close to the pass, three crawlers moved, opening their bellies and exposing their obscene arsenal. A similar situation happened around the front, and then Janine stepped forward and laughed, banishing the dread from the air.

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"Hey!" she roared. "Lost your way? Here, come to my voice, drop your weapons, and I'll greet you as friends! But if you came as enemies, know that I never let anyone get past me at Houstad's gates." The Taleteller pointed at the pass. "And it won't be any different here. My blade will slice you, my fangs and claws will rend you, and in the searing heat of my flame you shall find nothing but excruciating agony. Go home, or join us and have peace!"

"Reclaimers!" A shout answered her from the north, so loud and booming that it silenced Janine's roar entirely.

Leila almost jumped at the sight of a titanic leg emerging from the cloud of smoke. A giant, several dozen meters tall, left the veil. His hands were encased in fingerless gauntlets, capable of crushing any vehicle with the same ease as child's toys; his eyes were shining stars set inside an indomitable fort serving him for a head. Rich robes of regal purple and dark crimson streamed the length of his figure, covered by steel plates more fit to be individual sections of a castle wall and hinting at the danger hidden within. Long, gilded horns protruded from the head, their tips disappearing above the clouds. A palm extended toward the defenders in an arrogant gesture, beckoning them to fall on their knees and heed.

"Don't fret," Aranea yelled, attracting the soldiers' attention. "Lo-and-behold how the swirling smoke passes through him. King has finally deemed it fit to appear, and the best he could muster is to arrive as a mere hologram! Pathetic! This is a battlefield, not a theater, you sniveling wretch! Our leader stands tall!" She realized only then that her boast had sounded through their positions, transmitted by an operator. She blushed as Martyshkina and Janine erupted in laughter.

"Your leadership has lied to you." A cruel chuckle sliced through the cries. "They claimed that we are cowed, that we are too few to try to retake what you stole from us. Well then. What will you say of their thesis now?"

A part of the dark veil parted, revealing rows of warriors on the sandy plains. The Regulators held the left flank, and thousands of troops in black and gold uniforms awaited the command for an assault. Columns of heavy vehicles lined their ranks, and Yasen stood upon a square siege tank, raising his hand in triumph. Three figures wrapped in cloaks of different colors—green, blue, and red—surrounded him, acting as bodyguards.

On a throne positioned on a missile launcher sat Blaguna Nokto, and Aranea's blood boiled with fury upon recognizing her round helmet and the lazy, arrogant carelessness in her posture as she took a drink from a servant. Smoke retreated further, and even more vehicles came into view, including several marked by a green cross, indicating them as non-combatants. Curses, foul insults, and mockery poured from the Regulators.

In the center shone warriors of the Bento Tribe, part-men, part-machines, armed with oversized weapons, some of which were connected to their bodies. Sunlight reflected off their metallic skin. The only vehicles in their ranks were fat, dome-shaped shield carriers—mobile APCs capable of projecting force shields. Aside from them, the entire Bento force was composed of infantry. A figure standing ahead of them raised the familiar black scythe. Aranea recognized her despite her bulky, pristine blue suit.

Jekaterina, the queen of the Soultakers, occupied the forefront of the Resistance. A long, deep-sea blue cloak flowed from her pauldrons; the armor of her legs and arms was square-shaped and appeared to be unwieldy. Several tall warriors identical to the maniac Janine had killed flanked her, acting as an honor guard or perhaps an iron fist. While not as rowdy as the Regulators, the Bentos issued challenges and occasional insults while moving and gesturing. Amulets and chains wrapped around their limbs, holding circle-shaped idols, clattered and rang during the commotion. Flags with painted mechanical skulls and rising suns flapped above them. Meanwhile, Jekaterina was stillness made flesh.

Soldiers dressed in black clothes and carapaces occupied the right flank of the approaching force. Lenses of their helmets glowed with pale light. Trackless tanks hovered above the ground in their ranks, kept safe by the shield carriers. Simple flags, little more than patches of dark-painted cloth, were mounted on the tanks. A figure in a simple sleeveless vest, brown pants, and a cocked hat led the silent troops. Not clad in any armor, he easily reached four and a half meters in height and carried a long sword-spear, with its protruding edges spreading to the middle of the shaft. Unafraid of bullets or shells, he flipped off the defenders, while the Soultakers mimicked their leader, resembling a host of statues or automatons.

A tingle of uncertainty stung Aranea. So many. Too many, surpassing their own numbers, and these were just the ones she could see! The veil kept obscuring the space behind the enemy, and who knew how many more forces waited to join in? And the mystery of the weird tremors remained unsolved.

"Do you see the falsehoods fed to you? The liars and schemers in charge sent you here to die! And for what? Will your sacrifice reap any rewards? Will anyone remember your names in the years to come as your bones turn to dust in our harsh lands? No!" King thundered, circling his army with his gauntlet, more fitting to be an excavator bucket. Hands designed to break and maim rather than sign treaties. He spread his arms. "Passion, technology, and order have come for you. Before the day is over, we will reclaim what is ours. Gates of Destiny is the name of this ancient place, and could it be any more fitting? Will it be a destiny of futile death or a future full of life? Surrender, lay down your weapons, and leave in peace. Resist, and face annihilation. Answer me, Reclaimers! What is your choice?!" The demonic roar reached the defenders.

"Soldiers of the Reclamation Army!" From the speakers came the voice of Captain Osero. The heavily augmented man walked atop the Inevitable and addressed the defenders. "It is fitting that our enemies have crept close to our ranks cloaked in shadow, threatening us as if we are helpless settlers and they are robber barons. A person's worth is recognized through their deeds. By our hands, we brought order to the region and rebuilt the homes of our allies. Will you surrender them, return them back to those who robbed them of everything?"

"No!" shouted the defenders, and Aranea found herself yelling with them.

"Our foe tries to intimidate us with this meager show of force, but who, if not them, has been running away with their pants down, as we rescued those they abandoned? Reclaim? Bah, they have no right to corrupt that word. Are we supposed to retreat from this rabble, this disorganized host of tribes, united by fear rather than by unity? They ruled these lands for centuries, and what do they have to show for it? Weapons of the Old World, crude imitations of the technology of the past, and towns wedged into the ruins left by the Extinction! Fruitless lands, unprotected farms, and desolation stretching in every direction! Where are your marvels? Where is your pride? What sort of future are you leaving your children? Will we be intimidated by these laughable rulers?!"

"No way!"

"Here's your answer, False King. Come and test us at your peril!" said Osero.

"Death it is then." King pointed at the defenders. "Exterminate them."

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