The thunder of hooves and wheels echoed through the war-scarred landscape as Kalem stood tall atop his modified cart. Dust rose in choking clouds behind the cavalry formation, the frontlines far behind them now. Onyx—his trusted bull, clad in heavy armor—charged ahead with unmatched force, pulling Kalem like a battering ram toward the ridge.
The sun barely filtered through the grey haze above, casting jagged shadows across the fractured plain. In the distance, the Gravewrought Behemoth moved like a walking mountain. Nearly two hundred meters tall, its form was more monument than monster—layers of stone, metal, and bone fused into a grotesque shape of humanoid brutality. The air trembled with every step it took, chains dragging behind like broken limbs, uprooting trees and shattering the ground.
"Keep formation!" someone shouted from the vanguard. But Kalem barely registered the voice. His eyes were fixed on the giant behind them, and his hands stayed steady on the reins.
He glanced at Onyx beneath him. The bull's sides heaved with rhythmic breaths, muscles tense, eyes forward.
"Still with me, partner?" Kalem muttered under his breath.
Onyx let out a short, guttural snort—affirmation.
Kalem smiled faintly, the bond between them unspoken but solid. They had been through fire, blood, and abyss. Now, they were bait.
The Western Ridge rose ahead—narrow, jagged, and perilously steep on either side. According to the command's briefing, this ridge had once been a mining site, long collapsed and left unstable. A perfect funnel for the Gravewrought Behemoth. If they could guide it up, the 7th Legion, waiting hidden among the elevated crevices, would launch a coordinated barrage. Heavy weapons. Spells of mass disruption. Enough firepower to fell even a titan.
Kalem glanced at the enchantments embedded into his gear. His resonance blade was strapped to his back, and the crimson spear leaned beside him. In his hand, he held the rapier, its enchantment primed but dormant.
Timing would be everything.
They ascended the ridge with the cavalry fanning out to both sides, weaving through old support beams and the bones of rusted machinery. Kalem stayed central, a forward spearpoint in the formation. Onyx never faltered—his hooves gripped the unstable terrain with animal precision. Every movement was in sync, like a well-practiced dance between rider and steed.
Behind them, the Gravewrought Behemoth advanced. Each step sent tremors through the ridge. Massive, corpse-laden arms dragged at the earth, breaking through rock with ease.
"Just a little further..." Kalem muttered.
A familiar voice crackled through his comm-stone. "Kalem, you're getting too close to the center ridge. Fall back after thirty seconds. That's where we light it up."
"Acknowledged," Kalem said, pulling slightly on the reins. Onyx adjusted, maintaining speed but angling toward the designated fall-back zone.
Kalem turned his eyes skyward for a moment. Along the flanks of the ridge, he could make out faint shapes—artillery teams, elemental casters, and siege devices cloaked under camouflage enchantments. The 7th Legion was ready.
Then came the first sign of trouble.
A subtle tremor—barely more than a quiver—passed through the cart. Kalem's brow furrowed.
He glanced over the side, noting a fissure that hadn't been there moments ago.
Another crack. This one louder. A sharp sound of stone snapping beneath immense pressure.
Kalem's knuckles whitened on the reins.
"Steady..." he muttered. He could feel Onyx reacting too—ears twitching, steps slightly more measured.
"Don't spook now," Kalem whispered. "We're almost there."
But the feeling wouldn't leave him. Something was wrong. The ridge had always been unstable, yes—but this was different. Like the mountain itself was recoiling from what was coming.
A gust of wind picked up loose gravel and flung it against Kalem's cloak. His eyes scanned the flanks one last time. He caught a glimpse of a legionnaire giving a silent hand signal—the countdown had begun.
Kalem reached back, gripping the resonance blade, its hilt cool against his palm. He activated the primary rune. A soft hum began to rise from the blade, matching the thrum in his chest.
Twenty seconds.
The Behemoth's shadow loomed now, enormous and oppressive. Its face—or what could be called a face—was a mass of etched skulls twisted in agony, each one howling a silent scream. The thing raised its massive foot and stepped fully onto the narrow ridge.
Fifteen seconds.
Kalem guided Onyx forward with a sharp whistle, veering toward a broken wooden outpost ahead. The plan was simple: get clear before the ridge was engulfed in chaos.
Ten seconds.
He took a final look back at the Gravewrought Behemoth. For a fleeting second, it paused—one of its massive arms rising unnaturally high.
Kalem narrowed his eyes.
Why did it—?
Boom.
The ground buckled. Not from an attack—but a collapse. Somewhere along the ridge's center, a core support gave way. Kalem saw a plume of dust shoot upward—then vanish.
He felt Onyx jolt beneath him. A deep growl came from the bull's throat.
"Go!" Kalem shouted, snapping the reins.
They surged forward.
But as they did—just before Kalem could raise the signal flare to fall back—the ground behind them fractured. A spiderweb of cracks raced toward them, the tremors rising to a thunderous roar.
Kalem looked over his shoulder and saw it:
A sinkhole, opening mid-ridge.
He caught one last look at the Behemoth teetering, half-caught in the collapse—but he had no time to celebrate.
Because the ridge was crumbling beneath him.
"Onyx! Jump left!"
The bull swerved as ordered, his hooves scrambling against falling stone. Kalem braced himself, but the cart's left wheel caught a broken rock, spinning violently.
The cart jerked. Onyx stumbled.
Kalem's eyes widened as the world tilted beneath him.
The last thing he saw was Onyx twisting his body, trying to protect the cart as the edge gave way.
Then everything went weightless.
Kalem didn't even have time to scream before he was swallowed by the chasm.