The night was supposed to be peaceful.
Ordinary.
Despite the unease festering beneath the surface, the city still clung to the illusion of security. The streets hummed with the murmur of late-night merchants, weary travelers, and distant laughter.
The glow of rune lamps flickered along the paved roads, casting elongated shadows against towering stone buildings. The scent of roasted meats and sweetened wine drifted from open taverns, mingling with the crisp night air.
And then—
The world shook.
A thunderous tremor rippled through the city as a violent shockwave slammed into the outer defenses. The once-sturdy walls groaned under the assault, cracks splintering through ancient stone like veins of impending ruin. The protective runes, carved deep into the fortress-like barricades, pulsed with frenzied light—fighting, straining—before flickering erratically and dying.
Then came the sound.
A howl.
Not the distant call of a lone predator in the wild, but something deeper. Something guttural. Ravenous. It reverberated through the air, sending a chill through every spine, sinking into the bones like an unshakable omen.
Screams followed.
A section of the northern wall had been breached.
And the monsters poured in.
Their eyes gleamed in the dim light—feral, bloodthirsty. Massive, sinewy bodies surged forward, some covered in jagged fur, others in sleek, armored scales that caught the glow of the panicked city. Clawed limbs struck against the stone streets with the sickening crunch of bone meeting rock. Snarling maws dripped with saliva, eager for flesh.
The nearest targets?
The ordinary people.
The lower district erupted into madness.
A cacophony of screams tore through the streets as panic seized the hearts of the helpless.
Parents snatched their children and ran, stumbling over uneven cobblestone. Traders abandoned their stalls, sending precious goods spilling across the ground, crushed beneath frantic feet. Carriages overturned, their terrified horses kicking and whinnying before bolting into the chaos.
A young woman, dressed in the fine silks of a business suit, tripped.
She barely had time to turn before a dog-like beast—launched itself at her, its body grotesquely mutated, muscles bulging unnaturally
One single scream.
Then silence.
Blood sprayed across the cracked stone as the beast's massive jaws clamped down. Her body went limp, lifeless, discarded like a broken doll as the monster turned, already seeking its next prey.
The scent of blood—thick, metallic, undeniable—permeated the air.
And it shattered whatever courage the people had left.
This was no simple skirmish. No controlled attack.
This was a slaughter.
For the first time in decades, a city under the Earth Clan's rule was under siege.
And nobody knew what to do.
....
Far above the carnage, in the safety of the upper district, the elite citizens watched.
Behind the reinforced windows of their opulent manors, they stood in hushed horror. Their district, positioned far from the outer walls, remained untouched, protected, and Shielded by layers of defenses designed to ensure that no matter what happened below, they would be safe.
Yet, as smoke curled into the night sky, as the distant shrieks of the dying echoed through the streets, their hands trembled.
"This… this isn't supposed to happen!"
"The Earth Clan swore our defenses were impenetrable!"
"How did the beasts get through?"
Their questions were laced with fear.
But they did nothing.
Not yet.
They would only act when the problem reached their doorsteps.
And even then…
Their fear whispered the truth:
A beast tide had breached a city within the Earth Domain.
Something the world had forgotten and thought impossible due to the zero-beast breach in recent years.
....
Before the chaos could consume the entire city, its true guardians finally moved.
The intermediate clan's runesmiths. The lesser clan's illusion warriors.
Their response was swift.
From the shadows, illusionists stepped forward. A single, fluid gesture from a robed warrior, and the battlefield shifted. Reality twisted.
Beasts lunged—only to snap at empty air.
Illusions of warriors appeared, moving with eerie grace, drawing the monsters into carefully laid traps. The creatures howled in confusion, their frenzied minds caught in fabricated nightmares. Some turned on phantom enemies, slashing wildly at nothing. Others staggered in place, their senses overwhelmed by visions of death and fire.
Then, from above, the runesmiths struck.
Carved runes along the rooftops flared to life, glowing with ancient power.
Flames erupted, searing through flesh and bone. Beasts screeched, their bodies engulfed in purifying fire.
Spears of radiant energy rained down, piercing skulls with pinpoint accuracy.
The ground beneath their feet shuddered, then cracked open. Chasms swallowed the monstrous invaders whole, the earth sealing shut with a final, merciless crunch.
The counterattack was ruthless. Calculated. Unrelenting.
Within minutes, the tide had shifted.
The last surviving beast—a massive, armored panther, its obsidian-black fur shimmering like tempered steel—snarled in defiance.
It coiled, muscles tensing. Ready to strike.
A rune-etched spear shot through the night.
It pierced the creature's heart before it could move.
The beast staggered.
Collapsed.
The battle was over.
But the city would never be the same.
....
The bodies were gathered. The streets were washed clean. The defenses were rebuilt.
But something had changed.
Something deeper.
The wounds left behind were not just physical.
For the first time, the people understood a truth they had long ignored.
The Clan were not invincible.
Their safety was not absolute.
They could be attacked.
They could be killed.
And that terrified them.
From his hotel balcony, Alex watched it all unfold.
The glow of the city lights flickered against his impassive face, but his gaze remained cold.
This was nothing new to him.
He had watched his clan fall in a single day. Had seen walls crumble, families torn apart, futures erased. He knew this cycle. He had lived it.
But for these people?
This was their first taste of true fear.
And fear was a powerful thing.
A tool.
One he intended to use.