The sky burned silver.
*VWHOOM-SHYYYYNNNG!*
*FOOOOM-CRRRYSH!*
Blinding beams of moonlit destruction slammed against the city walls. Each impact sent tremors rippling through the magically reinforced stone, loosening brick and mortar, leaving deep scars upon the fortifications. Near the impact points, some lionkin warriors were flung back.
Many that came into direct contact disintegrated, their bodies becoming nothing but ash thanks to the flashes of moonlight. Only the mightiest of Var'Zhul's elite warriors could survive these immensely powerful charged-up cannon attacks hitting them, but even they would suffer minor injuries. The run-of-the-mill footsoldier had no chance of survival.
This phenomenon alone was enough to help Var'Zhul estimate the level of his enemy. Based on the scale of destruction and high mana reserves, he believed her to be above level 40 but most certainly below level 60. If she were higher, meaning she had a higher Magic stat, his elite soldiers wouldn't have been able to take her attacks as well as they did.
The fact that a lower-leveled mage managed to cause him such a headache and his city so much damage greatly infuriated the lionkin.
However, he had to be thankful for the fact that, at least for the time being, the walls still stood.
But for how long would that remain the case?
Var'Zhul gritted his teeth with anger as his eyes darted across the chaos unfolding below. The masked one had vanished beneath the earth like a swimmer and was already underneath his city, ready to wreak havoc.
And yet, for all their misfortune, there was a single, bitter mercy.
Those cannons fired beams, not projectiles.
If the enemy had been using true artillery like trebuchets, then the city would already be burning from within. The attackers could have simply adjusted their aim and rained death upon the interior of Emberfang, bypassing its defenses entirely.
But these weapons were different. The beams shot in perfectly straight lines.
They either hit the walls or sailed harmlessly over the city if the barrel of the cannons were to be angled too high. There was no in-between. No drop of the projectile.
This, at least, had allowed Emberfang to remain standing.
From his vantage point, Var'Zhul turned to shift his gaze toward the interior of his city—toward the rapidly growing pandemonium.
Freed war beasts tore through the streets, thrashing against handlers who no longer had the numbers nor the strength to contain them. They rampaged through alleys and marketplaces, trampling lionkin and tearing at soldiers.
A group of his warriors fought to subdue a massive, horned beast, with their ropes tightening around its limbs as they tried to force it back under control. For a moment, they almost had it.
Then, a second beast struck from the side, cleaving through two of them with a single swing of its claws.
It was pointless.
They were wasting time and manpower.
"Enough!" Var'Zhul bellowed, his deep, authoritative voice carrying over the battlefield. "Kill them! We don't have the luxury of subjugation!"
The order was urgent and absolute. The lionkin brandished their weapons, ready to cut down their own war beasts, abandoning their efforts to reclaim them. It was an ugly, senseless slaughter, but survival left no room for sentiment. Their enemies wouldn't give them the luxury of time.
Then, something strange happened.
Above the city, a shimmering structure materialized in the night sky. It was a massive, glass-like object made of silvery moonlight.
Var'Zhul's ears flattened against his skull, his tail bristling with bad premonition.
"What in the Goddess' name is that…?"
He'd never seen anything like that. It reminded him of the mirror his wife loved to observe herself in for hours at a time. Then again, it wasn't the mirror noble ladies used for beautification reasons. Not only did it float in the skies, but it was also significantly larger than any mirror he'd seen before. ṛÀꞐộ𝔟Ɛ§
The strange structure rotated slowly, shifting in the air as if it were being adjusted by unseen hands. But it was too small to cause real damage if it dropped. It wasn't large enough to destroy a single building, let alone the city.
Then why summon it?
What was its purpose?
His stomach twisted as his instincts, that have been honed over centuries of life-or-death situations, screamed at him.
"Focus on that damn thing!" he barked. "Take it down!"
It was already too late.
The cannons fired. Not at the walls, but at the mirror.
And the mirror… redirected the beams.
Blazing silver light refracted from the floating structure, splitting and scattering in unnatural trajectories. The redirected beams streaked downward, straight into the heart of Emberfang.
A colossal blast erupted through the streets, annihilating everything in its path. Homes, beasts, and lionkin—all were gone in an instant, reduced to nothing but light and dust. More beams followed, each one carving deep wounds into the city's core.
The walls were no longer the target, for the elven mage had stepped up her game, forcing the battle to turn inward.
Var'Zhul clenched his jaw as every fiber of his being screamed at him to act. His soldiers eyed him, waiting for his orders with desperation in their hearts and minds.
He had fought for centuries. Led armies successfully through both sieges and siege defenses. He knew when a city was doomed.
And Emberfang was doomed.
If they remained, they would be picked apart piece by piece. The masked one would tear the city apart from below. The moon mage would continue raining death from above. He didn't know how much mana these damned pair had left in their tank, and the worst of it was that it no longer mattered.
Even if they ran out of juice before a single wall fell, even if the attackers were forced to retreat, Emberfang was done for. The moonmage and the monster had caused too much damage to the infrastructure of the city. When the presumed large dogkin army arrived on their doorstep, they would have no way to resist the siege.
They couldn't defend Emberfang anymore.
At least, not from the inside.
The decision solidified in his mind. His pride warred with his reason—but reason won.
They still had one option.
We kill them.