Gunmage
Chapter 81: No dawn for Drakensmar

Chapter 81: Chapter 81: No dawn for Drakensmar

Lugh’s mind was a maelstrom of emotion. He had fought, struggled, and endured. For what? Why had he clung so desperately to life? What was he trying to achieve?

His will, battered and crushed, left only one truth behind—a burning, seething desire to annihilate his enemy, even if it meant perishing alongside them.

His gaze flickered across the crumbling ruins, jagged towers of ancient stone barely held together. His throat was dry, his hands trembling as he forced out the single word that would spell the end of everything.

"Collapse."

A scream rang out.

LUGH, NO!

For a brief, agonizing moment, nothing happened. Silence hung in the air like the last breath of a dying world.

Then, Lugh’s silver ring flared to life, its intricate patterns pulsing with an unhinged, uncontrolled power. Xhi had warned him. She had told him not to use the spell anytime soon. Now he understood why.

The force struck him like an unseen hammer, slamming him to the ground. His body convulsed as his bones cracked like brittle twigs, his organs rupturing under the sheer pressure.

Blood spewed from his lips in ragged bursts as pain unlike anything he had ever known wracked his being. He could feel himself caving in, collapsing from the inside out.

Emrys watched in horror, an unnatural foreboding settling in his gut.

Time itself seemed to slow. The floor beneath their feet shimmered with an eerie blue light, veins of arcane energy split across the surface like cracks in a fragile shell.

Then, with an earth-shattering roar, reality buckled.

The ground ruptured. Ancient foundations, weakened by time and battle, split apart with deafening snaps.

Tremors raced through the ruined city like the convulsions of a dying beast. Buildings groaned, their stonework grinding as they wailed in agony before crumbling.

Entire structures folded in on themselves, sucked downward by an unseen force. It wasn’t just a collapse. It was something more, the entire city was being devoured.

Above, the sky trembled. Cracks of white-hot energy splintered across the heavens, growing, widening. Then, with terrible speed, the sky fell.

It shattered like fragile glass, shards of celestial light cascading downward before dissolving into nothingness. Darkness swept over Drakensmar.

Not the ordinary absence of light, but an unnatural, suffocating void where time, space, and distance lost meaning. A gnawing abyss swallowed the ruins, dragging everything into its depths.

The walls of the city began to sink, vanishing beneath the surface as the earth consumed them.

The Roch River, once a lifeline to the city, now became its executioner. From both ends, it surged like a wrathful deity, pouring into the growing chasm in great, roaring waterfalls.

The impact sent waves of mist and debris spiraling into the air.

Everything, the people, the buildings, the history, was being erased.

The corruption came next.

The air twisted with malignant energy, an overwhelming presence that distorted reality. Anything that remained—flora, fauna, the dying, the still-standing—changed.

Trees gnarled into twisted, grotesque shapes, their bark pulsing as if alive. Flowers darkened, their petals curling into claw-like forms.

Rats and other animals, desperate to flee, shrieked as their bodies contorted, limbs elongating in unnatural ways.

Soldiers and civilians alike screamed as their flesh warped, their very essence unraveling into something unrecognizable.

Then, finally, there was only darkness. And silence.

...

General Garrick felt the first tremors long before he saw anything.

He was already furious. That reckless upstart, Prince Lovainne, had defied protocol once again, launching an unsanctioned assault on the old capital city with a mere handful of survivors.

Garrick had to admit, the brat had nerve. Surviving the Devil Sea had earned him a measure of respect, and his gambit at the northern banks had given them a strategic foothold.

But this? This was madness.

He had debated leaving the boy to his fate. It would have been poetic justice, really. Yet, Lovainne was still a prince. Letting him die would be a political nightmare.

And so, the 7th Armored Division rolled toward Drakensmar.

Massive, steel-plated vehicles thundered across the plains, engines roaring as they cut through the landscape.

Cars, troop carriers, and armored transports surged forward in a tightly coordinated formation.

The air was thick with the scent of oil and gunpowder, the rhythmic clatter of machinery and heavy treads filling the uneasy silence.

Then, without warning, everything changed.

One moment, they were under the open sky. The next, they had crossed into a world stripped of light.

The sun was gone. The moon, the stars, erased.

What remained was a vast, empty void of blackness. The air turned deathly cold, thick with an oppressive, unnatural energy that made the hairs on their arms rise.

The soldiers shifted uneasily in their seats, hands tightening around their weapons.

"General"

A lieutenant said, voice strained with barely contained panic.

"What the hell is this?"

Garrick said nothing, his face grim

"Press forward"

He ordered.

The convoy pushed on, their headlights carving weak beams through the abyss. The sense of dread deepened with each passing moment.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And then they reached the edge.

Where Drakensmar had once stood, there was now only an abyss. An enormous chasm of impossible proportions stretched out before them, swallowing everything in its depths.

The remnants of the city lay in ruins far below, barely visible through the thick mist rising from the Roch River’s endless descent. The waters churned violently, as if trying to fill a void that refused to be sated.

A sound carried on the wind.

At first, it was barely noticeable, a distant whisper. Then it grew. A cacophony of sobs, wails, and tortured screams.

The cries of the damned, echoing from the depths of the chasm, twisting into a choir of despair.

The soldiers stood frozen. Hardened men, seasoned veterans, warriors who had seen the worst battlefields had to offer, now gripped their weapons with white-knuckled hands.

Some whispered prayers under their breath.

Others fell to their knees, their brains trying to process what they were seeing.

General Garrick exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the unnatural chill. This was no longer a battlefield. No longer a mission of war.

They had come expecting a fight.

Instead, they had found the end of a city.

For a long while nobody spoke, minds numb from what they witnessed.

Then, the general turned to his men, his voice firm despite the creeping horror gnawing at his soul.

There was no time to think.

"We’re not here to fight anymore."

His gaze swept over the abyss, then back to his soldiers.

"...We’re here to pull out whoever’s left."

With a heavy heart, he gave the command.

"Begin the rescue operation."