The night was a living thing, shifting and restless, its shadows stretching long and deep. Leo crouched in the darkness outside the fortress, his breath steady despite the pounding in his chest.
Kara crouched beside him, her rifle gleaming like a promise. Aícha hovered behind, staff aglow with a faint rune light, her eyes sharp and wary.
Leo's machete rested on his knee, the blade catching a glimmer of starlight. "You all know the plan," he whispered. "We hit the Pale King's supply lines—hard and fast. We're not here to fight a war. We're here to remind him that every step he takes costs him."
Kara's grin was a savage slash in the night. "About time we gave him something to think about."
Aícha's voice was low, but every word steady. "The shadows will be watching," she said. "But so will we."
Leo nodded. "No mercy," he rasped. "No second chances. We hit, we burn, we get out."
Kara's rifle clicked as she chambered a round. "Let's light up the night," she growled.
They moved like ghosts through the darkness, every step a promise of defiance.
The Pale King's supply convoy snaked through the ruins, its rune lanterns casting a sickly glow on the broken asphalt. Rusted tanks belched smoke, their armored plates covered in the Pale King's sigils.
Leo crouched behind a collapsed wall, his breath low and steady. Kara was at his shoulder, her rifle slung and ready. Aícha moved like a shadow, her staff's light dimmed to a faint pulse.
Leo's eyes narrowed. "We hit the fuel trucks first," he whispered. "Then the ammo crates. No survivors."
Kara's grin was a blade in the night. "And then we vanish," she said.
Aícha's staff glowed faintly as she murmured a chant of concealment, the runes tracing protective wards in the air. "I'll keep the shadows on our side," she said.
Leo's machete caught the faint glow of the convoy's lights. "Move," he growled.
They slipped from cover, ghosts in a dead city. The convoy's guards were scattered, half-asleep or too arrogant to expect an attack.
Leo's blade whispered through the night—one, two, three—guards fell without a sound. Kara's rifle cracked once, twice, the shots muffled by the rune silencer she'd rigged.
Aícha's staff flared as she disarmed a rune ward with practiced precision, her lips a silent prayer.
They reached the heart of the convoy—a line of trucks brimming with fuel and crates of weapons marked with the Pale King's seal.
Leo's breath was a cold flame. "Light them up," he said.
Kara's grin was savage. "With pleasure."
The first truck exploded in a roar of fire and smoke. Flames leapt into the sky, a beacon of defiance.
Alarms howled. Shadows shifted. And the Pale King's army woke to the smell of burning dreams.
The night blazed with fire. Smoke billowed into the sky, turning the darkness into a seething inferno.
Leo ran, boots pounding the cracked pavement, his machete slick with sweat and blood. Kara darted beside him, her rifle clutched tight, eyes wide and wild. Aícha's staff flared with frantic light, runes dancing like sparks around her as she cast deflection wards.
Behind them, the convoy burned. Fuel trucks erupted in shrieks of flame, their contents exploding like vengeful spirits. Weapons caches detonated, sending deadly shrapnel skittering across the ruins.
Alarms wailed through the night, a chorus of panic and rage. The Pale King's soldiers scrambled, shadows weaving between the flames, their shouts lost in the roar of destruction.
"Leo!" Kara shouted, voice raw. "They're flanking us!"
Leo's breath came ragged. "Move!" he barked. "We head for the old tunnel!"
They ducked through a shattered archway as a hail of rune-bolts sliced the air where they'd been. Leo turned, machete flashing, carving through the first attacker that lunged from the smoke.
Aícha's staff blazed, a shockwave of light that sent three more enemies sprawling.
Kara's rifle cracked, each shot a promise that no one would take her alive.
Leo's heart pounded like a war drum. Every step felt like a fight against the night itself.
"Keep moving!" he roared. "We've got to get out of the kill zone!"
They sprinted through a corridor of flame, the walls trembling with every explosion. Shadows lunged, claws slashing, but Leo's machete met them all.
Aícha's staff glowed like a star, her voice a raw chant of defiance. Kara's rifle barked one last shot before the bolt clicked dry.
"Down here!" Leo shouted.
They plunged into the darkness of the old service tunnel, the world above them burning like a dying star.
And behind them, the Pale King's wrath rose like a storm.
The old service tunnel yawned before them—a black throat of stone, damp with the breath of a world long dead. Leo led the way, his machete clenched tight in his fist, every step a battle to keep moving.
Behind him, Kara's boots echoed like a war drum, her breath ragged. Aícha's staff glowed faintly, its light bouncing off the damp walls and casting fleeting shadows that danced like ghosts.
The roar of the burning convoy still rumbled above them, a reminder that their sabotage had hit its mark. But the Pale King's soldiers wouldn't rest—not until every last rebel had paid the price.
Leo's voice was a rough whisper. "Keep your eyes open. These tunnels are old. Too many ways to die down here."
Kara grunted. "Better than dying up there."
Aícha's staff flickered. "Shadows move here," she murmured, her voice trembling. "He's close—his influence seeps even underground."
A chill crawled up Leo's spine. "Then we move faster," he growled.
The tunnel twisted, each turn a gamble. Stale air pressed in from all sides, thick with the scent of mold and something older—something that didn't belong.
A sudden clatter—a stone falling somewhere ahead. Leo froze, hand on his machete. Kara swung her rifle up, eyes sharp.
A shadow shifted in the darkness.
"Leo," Aícha whispered. "They're here."
From the gloom, eyes glowed—a mutant soldier twisted by the Pale King's corruption, its skin blistered with runes that bled black smoke.
Leo's machete lashed out, steel ringing against rune-forged claws. Kara's rifle barked, the shot echoing like a thunderclap.
Aícha's staff blazed, light flooding the tunnel as shadows shrieked.
The fight was a blur of steel and screams. Leo's blade struck true, every swing a promise that he wouldn't bow—not here, not now.
The last enemy fell, its cry dying in the dark.
Leo's breath came in ragged gasps. "Move," he hissed. "Before more come."
They stumbled deeper into the tunnel, the darkness pressing in, every step a fight against the Pale King's gathering storm.
The tunnel's exit loomed ahead—a jagged gash in the earth, its edges scorched and crumbling. Moonlight spilled in, silver and cold, a promise of survival.
Leo stumbled out first, his machete slick with sweat and blood. The night air hit him like a slap, sharp and alive after the tunnel's suffocating darkness.
Kara followed, rifle slung, her eyes wild. Her grin was savage, but a tremor ran through her hands. "We made it," she gasped. "By the skin of our teeth."
Aícha emerged last, her staff dim but steady. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but her voice held its strength. "We hit them hard," she said. "They'll feel this."
Leo's jaw clenched. "They'll come after us," he said. "But that was the point. Let them come."
He scanned the horizon—broken buildings, dead trees, the fortress a distant smudge against the night sky. Every star felt like a witness to what they'd done.
Kara's laugh was low, dark. "You always did like picking fights," she muttered.
Leo's eyes hardened. "They took enough from us," he said. "Now it's our turn."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly. "Then we go home," she said. "And get ready."
Leo nodded. "We'll rest. Regroup. And when they come, we'll be waiting."
He turned, his machete at his side, every step a promise.
The night closed around them like a shroud, but Leo's fire burned bright.
And as they vanished into the darkness, the Pale King's empire trembled.