The monsters I saw emerge—the first monsters I ever saw in person—were like long, hairless, freakish, muscular dogs. They had sinewy bodies that seemed to absorb the light into their dark grey skin, with elongated heads that tapered into sinister, pointed snouts. To add to their disfiguration, their jaws grotesquely split open sideways, revealing rows upon rows of dagger-like teeth that seemed perfect for clamping and tearing. Each time they parted those hideous mouths, a shrill, high-pitched squeal filled the air, a sound that echoed ominously across the battlefield for kilometres. I knew for a fact that those with good hearing would be able to hear the sound from as far as Achrane. Top cap off their otherworldly, nightmarish quality their eyes glowed a chilling shade of red, matching the pulsating portal behind them as they surged forward, bounding through the field of Demon's Bane. The dark flowers shivering with each passing monster, each of them uncaring as their hairless bodies brushed up against the potent poison.

I stared, unblinking, captivated by what I was witnessing. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins as my childhood imaginings paled in comparison to the reality unfolding before me. All my life I'd heard the stories—tales of ferocious monsters and valiant defences—but nothing had prepared me for the surreal beauty and terrifying spectacle of seeing it with my own eyes. It felt almost hypnotic, these alien predators charging relentlessly across an ethereal landscape painted in blood-red and shadow.

"Gharounds," I whispered softly, naming the beasts under my breath as I watched them pour from the Fracture. I knew what they were from my studies in the academy and despite having never seen them before, there could be no confusing their distinct visage. "At least it's them and not demons."

Beside me, Tom dared a quick glance towards the Fracture, immediately grimacing and turning away, visibly shaken. "Let's just hope it stays that way. If something else comes next, we're fucked."

I didn't answer. My attention was fixed entirely on the battle unfolding before me, studying the chaos with morbid fascination. Tom was right: Gharounds were notorious as one of the simpler threats a Challenge could produce, but paired with any other creature—especially demons—they quickly became devastatingly effective.

My breath hitched in anticipation as the Gharound front line faltered. It happened almost instantly, their rapid, bounding strides stumbling abruptly, becoming sluggish and erratic. The numbing poison of the black orchids was even more potent than I had believed. The first creatures to make contact barely managed to take a few more steps before their legs gave way beneath them, sending them crashing to the earth in snarling, writhing heaps. Moments later, they vanished from view entirely, crushed beneath the relentless stampede of their kin.

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer efficiency and brutality of the tactic. I'd known the flowers were crucial but seeing them in action, witnessing how effortlessly the potent blooms neutralised the monsters, was something else entirely. Any lingering doubts I had about the strategy evaporated in that instant, crushed as swiftly as the Gharound vanguard beneath the horde's trampling feet. All of the initial creatures were dead within seconds and they had barely crossed any ground at all. The sight was spectacular and a part of me began to wonder if the whole thing would be a lot easier than I was led to believe.

My optimism was short-lived as another wave of Gharounds surged forward, effortlessly cresting over the mounting piles of their fallen kin. They poured from the Fracture in relentless numbers, quickly obliterating any hope I'd entertained of an easy victory. It was a staggering, unending torrent, more like an ocean than a wave, an overwhelming tide of monsters pushing forward without pause. Logically, I had always known to expect immense numbers. They'd drilled that into us since childhood, explaining the horrific volume of invaders. Yet seeing it was utterly different from hearing about it. It didn't matter how many of these creatures were brought down by the Demon's Bane or trampled beneath the feet of their brethren; for every one felled, three more seemed to charge through to replace it. The sight was both mesmerising and horrifying, an unstoppable flood that battered away at the morale of anyone watching.

Minutes passed agonisingly slowly as I tracked the front line of monsters through the numbing flowers. Even slowed, they covered ground quickly, and I could practically feel the fear emanating from the prison conscripts as the inevitable clash drew closer. I had kept my eyes trained on the frontrunners the entire time and was able to witness their first clash. The conscripts' spears were braced into the ground but they shook with fear, their stances weak, and in some cases, their eyes closed. Despite this, the first monster to reach them was impaled clean through by the first contact. An accidental flinch by a man led to his spearhead moving into the path of a Gharound that tried to swerve past his defences. A look of stunned relief and joy crossed the prisoner's face for a fleeting instant. Hope surged through him visibly as he recalculated his odds of survival, mistakenly believing them far better than before.

But that optimism vanished as swiftly as it had come. Before he could even reset his grip, another Gharound lunged forward, deftly knocking his spear aside. In a heartbeat, it clamped its grotesque jaws around his arm, the man's screams carrying clearly through the chaos. He was dragged away instantly, vanishing into the churning horde, where I knew he'd meet a horrific end as he was torn limb from limb by countless snapping jaws.

This method of attack was precisely why Gharounds were known as one of the "easier" threats during a Challenge. Rather than going for swift, fatal strikes, their primary tactic was to disrupt and snatch defenders from the lines, pulling them back into the swarm. It was brutal, perhaps one of the worst ways to die, but it also gave comrades opportunities to intervene, sometimes rescuing those being taken. Their preference for dragging prey rather than immediately killing them bought defenders precious time. The lack of targeted strikes on fatal areas also helped the defenders survive because a single hit was unlikely to be a death sentence. Sometimes it would take one or two before they got a hold and managed to drag someone off and that was more than enough to change the course of a fight. However, when paired with another, deadlier foe, Gharounds became the perfect opening act with their mastery of breaking defensive formations apart. The finesse they demonstrated with their snouts shattered cohesion as they bypassed weaponry, leaving defenders scattered and vulnerable. A second, more lethal enemy could then easily exploit these broken lines, efficiently killing the isolated survivors left behind. It was theorised that they were hunting animals in the world they came from. Bred to accompany hunters to help them bring down hard to catch prey. Seeing them destroy the ranks of my fellow prisoners made me grateful I couldn't see these creatures in their habitat they were bred for.

Thankfully, this time, no such lethal partners accompanied the Gharounds. But for the terrified prisoners forced into the first wave of defenders, that distinction hardly mattered. Lacking training, coordination, and skill, the prisoners stood as little more than glorified distractions and were easy prey for the relentless attackers. Even slowed and numbed by the Demon's Bane, the Gharounds easily snatched men from their formations, dragging screaming bodies back into the unending swarm.

Watching from atop the walls, my heart sank further with each desperate scream and panicked cry. The prisoners were managing a pitiful resistance, barely bringing down a handful of monsters for every group lost. They were outmatched, overwhelmed, and rapidly dwindling, their fate sealed from the moment they stepped onto the field.

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It was a massacre. The prisoners just didn't stand a chance. When they attempted to hold their positions, they were snatched away screaming by the surging Gharounds. Any attempts to retreat or flee were brutally suppressed by the second line of conscripts, their spears firm and unyielding, forcing their fellow prisoners back into the slaughter. A few prisoners made desperate breaks toward the fort, only to be cut down mercilessly by arrows fired by Wallowhackers stationed on the walls. Watching their grim efficiency raised a question in my mind, and I turned to Tom, my eyes still fixed on the gruesome spectacle.

"Why don't they launch ranged attacks now?" I asked, puzzled by the apparent inefficiency. "Surely arrows would help?"

"Too hard to pull the resources back and that means it's more to clog up the flowers." Tom explained grimly. "As soon as they start pulling back to the fort you'll see more arrows and javelins being thrown but not until then. Unless things get desperate, obviously. Probably not going to happen though. By the sounds of it, it's only Gharounds and we can handle them."

By "they," he clearly meant the Wallowhackers and not the helpless prisoners dying by the dozens. My gaze flicked back just in time to see yet another group vanish beneath the surging tide, their cries abruptly silenced. Soon after, a horn echoed across the battlefield. A single, clear blast that caused Tom to flinch beside me, his expression even darker than before.

"That horn means the first wave's thinning," he explained in a voice barely louder than a whisper, clearly haunted by memories. "The assault never fully stops, but now the numbers slow down. It's the retrieval period."

I stared at him quizzically, prompting him to clarify.

"They'll send the conscripts forward now," Tom continued bitterly. "They have to drag the bodies clear before the next big wave hits. Otherwise, the flowers lose their effect and we're all finished."

My head turned sharply back to the fight and I saw what Tom said was correct. The monster herd was thinning and slowing down and with the rate of killing going on, there would be a lull in a few minutes for the rest and retrieval. This didn't do anything for the prisoners though. It was too late for them. Down on the killing field I saw the final one capitulate to an attack and get dragged away. All of the prisoner conscripts had been killed and it was barely an hour into the week.

There was no need for that level of sacrifice. A bit more training and a shield would have prevented those men from being killed so quickly. If they had put in even a modicum of effort to keep them alive, I believed most would have lived through the whole attack. I cast a dark glare toward where Sebastian stood, safely behind his walls. He watched impassively, detached and indifferent to the carnage. Whatever sinister scheme he had brewing, I felt nothing but contempt for him and his methods. I silently prayed for his plans to fail catastrophically, wishing fervently that his cruelty would eventually be repaid in kind.

The next row of conscripts did a much better job of putting the monsters down. They were able to effectively use their shields in the first row and spears in the second to keep the hound like animals from snagging easy kills. By the time the lull in the wave caught up to them, they had effectively killed the wave.

With the flood of Gharounds noticeably slowed, reduced to a trickle compared to moments ago, small groups of conscripts were now moving hesitantly forward, clearly terrified. They carried hooks, ropes, and poles, looking woefully inadequate for the grisly task ahead. As they began to struggle with the task, my stomach twisted in sympathy. Clearing the field was as horrific a job as I'd imagined. They needed to move the mangled bodies of their fellow conscripts, some still twitching, along with the twisted corpses of monstrous creatures. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling as they worked in a frenzy, knowing the reprieve wouldn't last long. Already the wave was catching up again, bearing down on the conscripts struggling in the field. The men hesitated, glancing desperately at the distant walls, only to be met by the harsh response of a warning arrow that thudded dangerously close to a soldier's foot. The threat was clear. Retreat wouldn't be permitted until their grisly task was done.

Panicking now, the conscripts attacked their work with frantic, terrified movements. Gone was any lingering gentleness or respect for the fallen; now it was pure, ruthless efficiency born from the desperation to survive. Bodies, both human and Gharound alike, were shoved, hooked, and dragged clear of the precious orchids, their dead limbs flailing grotesquely as they piled up at the edges of the field. Each passing second drew the charging monsters closer. The front runners, howling and slavering, trampled over their dead comrades without hesitation, their crimson eyes fixed solely on the fragile, vulnerable figures desperately trying to clear the field.

I chewed my nails as I watched, silently cheering for the teams doing their job down below. Most of the retrieval teams had managed to clear just enough space and were finally allowed to retreat, stumbling gratefully back behind the lines, exhausted and shaking. A few, however, had not moved quickly enough and remained trapped in their desperate efforts, frantically trying to clear the last few corpses. My eyes settled on one man in particular. Like all the conscripts, he was young and clearly terrified, his whole body trembling violently as he tried to push the limp form of a fallen Gharound deeper into the field. Each shove was weak, uncertain, and with every passing moment, he glanced fearfully toward the approaching horde. He adjusted his footing again, trying to get better leverage and finally he was able to push the body back and out of the clear zone. But the blood-soaked earth betrayed him. Churned and muddy already, it caused his boots to slip, and he pitched forward into the deadly embrace of a cluster of black orchids. The crowd atop the walls fell silent, watching in collective horror as his face plunged directly into the Demon's Bane.

He reacted almost instantly, scrambling frantically back onto his feet. Turning, he faced the distant frontline, his body visibly shaking. Behind him, the swarm of Gharounds surged forward like a dark wave, their red eyes burning with ravenous hunger. But there was still a chance. He had a head start, and the path ahead was clear. The monsters were still far enough back that he could make it to safety, and their path was filled with hazards.

"Come on," I silently urged, my fist clenched with tension as I watched the man try to outrun his fate.

For a moment it felt as though all eyes were on that man as he lurched forwards. One step. Two Steps. My heart leaped for him as he moved, thinking he was about to defy the odds. For a brief, hopeful moment, it seemed as though he might actually defy fate on this horrible day. But then his head suddenly lolled sideways, the insidious poison of the orchids already seizing control. It was clear now: the numbing venom had robbed him of the ability to lift his head, leaving it to dangle limply. He stumbled, lost his balance, and crashed hard to the ground.

Time slowed in agonising clarity. I silently pleaded for someone—anyone—to help him, but none of the frontline soldiers dared step forward. Too scared to step out of formation, either because of their fear of the monsters, or fear of the Wallowhackers. He tried again, desperately attempting to rise, but his movements were sluggish and weak, the poison now fully in control. Selfishly, I was glad I was too far to see his face or hear his voice.

Then, the Gharounds were upon him.

At the last moment, I turned away, unable to watch his brutal fate unfold. My stomach churned, bile rising at the back of my throat as the sound of the monsters crashing into the frontline rang out. There was no way he had survived. I shuddered, the full horror of what I'd just witnessed sinking in deeply. I could already tell that it was a moment I would never forget. The invaders killed him but as far as I was concerned it was Sebastian that was responsible for his death. His callous tactics had caused the deaths of hundreds and each one was a mark on his soul.

"That's the expression you should've had from the beginning," Tom said bitterly, glancing at me with tired, haunted eyes. "You've been walking around like it's all some game. But now you understand, don't you? Now you see what we've all seen. Now you've witnessed the true horror of the Challenge."

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