Chapter 67: Chapter 67

IRIS

The forces Aidan had assembled were a mighty sight in my eyes. Thousands of soldiers stood in rank and file, their muscled bodies bearing witness to years of battle, their hands clutching weapons with the surety of beings who breathed war.

Wherever I looked, I saw determined faces looking up at Avery, a silent loyalty burning in their gazes. My mate stood next to Devas, who crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

He followed Evangeline’s eyes, cold and calculating, as she walked through the ranks with Aidan. With precise movements, she divided the crowds into smaller groups, a strategist who maintained control even in the chaos.

Aidan knew each creature, knew exactly what it was capable of. Evie, on the other hand, trusted in her intuition.

She had certainly never seen some of these creatures; their abilities were unfamiliar to her—but Aidan enlightened her. Some of them demonstrated their powers, letting flames dance across their fingers or merging with the shadow itself.

That gave Evie an overview. Water creatures showed off their gifts and she watched their every move in amazement.

And the witches and warlocks, together with the elves, showed her how strong they were.

“They work well together,” Avery noted, glancing at Devas.

But Devas’s face revealed far from approval. His forehead was deeply furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the tension in his jaw was clearly visible.

“Why is she dividing the army into groups?” I asked in surprise.

“As I discussed with her,” Avery explained, “she’s planning a defense line, an attack squad, and a cover unit… all separately.”

Devas slowly shook his head. “You have no idea what Abaddon will unleash upon us,” he said.

His voice was raspy, as if every word was draining him of strength. “It’s not the familiar creatures under his command that are the problem. It’s the creatures you don’t know… the ones he only holds back for wars. The ones that frighten even me,” Devas said.

Avery and I exchanged glances. It wasn’t fear that spoke out of Devas. It was knowledge.

“Beings once as kindhearted as Evie…” he continued. “I have heard of Nephilim, of their various kinds. But the ones Abaddon captured… the ones he kept hidden in the deepest, darkest dungeons… that’s different.”

His eyes darkened. “They were ten times bigger than us. And they were strong. So strong that no single creature could defeat them. Abaddon called them Mortifer… because they were deadly,” he added.

Avery stared at him as Devas’s gaze slid over the army, as if he could already see the horrors that lay ahead.

“His army is led by creatures with no mercy,” Devas explained, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “He has given them some of his power. Blinded by their greed, they obey him unquestioningly. He calls them the Dolors.”

An icy chill ran down my spine.

“Serpentine creatures with wings. Remnants of an almost extinct ancient species. Abaddon found their brood and raised them until they grew to monstrous size. Countless razor-sharp teeth in a maw that could crush a man with a single bite. And wings… as huge as Alatus’s,” Devas told me.

My eyes wandered to my amicus, who stood motionless at my side.

“I am not afraid of the Dolor. There are only four,” Alatus replied in a calm voice.

Four of them. That was four too many.

“And even if we defeat them… how will we get to Abaddon? He won’t jump into the battle. He’ll be waiting,” Avery interjected.

Devas let out a heavy breath. “His brother won’t leave his side. As long as they are together, they’ll strengthen each other. To reach Abaddon… we have to take out Belial,” he said.

King Elior had already destroyed one of the Dark Princes—Amon, the killer of his wife. But the wrath that Abaddon and Belial would feel over their brother’s death… it would drag us all down into the depths.

With every word Devas spoke about the creatures approaching Antaris, the fear grew within me. These creatures had no mercy.

Their entire existence was geared towards devouring the light. And here, in this battle, they might be able to do it.

Aidan and Evie walked through the ranks of the troops, their eyes analyzing each warrior with the scrutiny of experienced leaders. Side by side with Devas, they picked out the strongest.

Those whose muscles tensed beneath their armor, whose eyes revealed an unshakeable will to fight stood out. They gathered the elite fighters in a separate circle, briefing them on the attackers.

Every weakness of the enemy creatures was dissected, every deadly method explained in detail. Devas’s voice was an icy whisper as he spoke of the Mortifer, describing how to pierce their scale armor below the ribs.

Aidan demonstrated, blade drawn, how to sever a Dolor’s head in a single, lightning-quick slash before their serpentine bodies could strangle an opponent.

Avery and I hurried through the ranks, passing on the knowledge as far as we could. But it was Jade and the other witches who gave us decisive support.

With whispering spells, they allowed the battle knowledge to flow like invisible lines from one warrior to the next. The information burned into their minds, speeding up their preparation.

Each group now had one of the elite fighters in its ranks—a living bulwark of experience and strength. They repeated the instructions, corrected postures, and sharpened the senses of their fellow fighters.

The air was filled with the clinking of weapons, tense whispers, and the unmistakable feeling that the war would be upon them at any moment. And they had trained, many days already, and nights, too.

Antaris was transformed into a fortress. Where once lively streets were filled with laughter, barricades now stood tall and sharp, ready to break the enemy’s onslaught.

The wood elves worked with grim determination, their hands flying over the ground as if they were commanding the earth itself. Deep protective trenches opened beneath their fingers, jagged and deadly as the water creatures reinforced them with liquid precision.

They sealed the walls with an impenetrable layer of hardened mud. The once vibrant town was unrecognizable.

A barren landscape spread out, marked by the preparations for the war. Houses had been demolished, and in their place towered low, stormproof bunkers made of stone and reinforced wood.

Playgrounds where children had laughed just a few days ago were now littered with weapons—rows of polished blades, bows in immaculate alignment, arrows in endless bundles, ready to be carried into battle by the hands of our soldiers.

Antaris was not breathing. It was waiting.

Just as Alatus was at my side. He accompanied me everywhere I went.

His concern for me was great, and I could not blame him. “I’m sorry I caused you so much grief when I disappeared to look for Devas,” I said to him.

Alatus looked at me with love. He would never criticize me, never get angry at me.

All I could feel was the endless love he had for me.

“You have not caused me any grief…I care about you, my fire child,” Alatus answered me.

His deep, rough voice made his chest vibrate, but his eyes radiated so much tenderness.

“Will you stay by my side?” I asked him quietly.

“My heart only beats as long as yours does. You are my soul sister, the only one for whom I would do anything. Don’t ever question my loyalty, I’ll stand in front of you while I watch the spears and swords fly into my chest,” Alatus said softly.

I drew in a sharp breath before I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you so much, Alatus,” I whispered.

But he heard it. His throbbing heart proved it to me—so strong, like a drum in his chest.

“And I love you, my fire child,” he replied.

By the time we started training again, Alatus was standing among the other Amicus, his mighty wings outstretched as he gave instructions with calm authority.

Each of these noble animals listened intently, their eyes so different in color and shape—all burning with the same determined fire. They knew what was at stake.

I watched him with a pride that almost made my heart burst.

Alatus was more than my soul being. He was my destiny, my shield, my unshakable companion through darkness and light.

An unbreakable bond of trust and friendship that ran deeper than blood.

The Amicus were preparing for war too. None of these animals would budge a single step from their companion.

Because while we could go on living without them, their fate was inseparable from ours.

If we fell, they would follow us into death—not out of duty, but out of a love that was stronger than death itself.