It was Chris Pitt.

"Sun-Cleft command, do you read me?" the Herald mocked, leaning forward in his projection. He casually tossed the severed helmet of a Bronze Legion soldier between his hands. "I know you desert rats are hiding down there. I just finished flattening the Sun-Spear capital, and I am getting incredibly bored. Send me the coordinates of your little cave, and I promise I will make your execution quick."

The room fell entirely silent. Varek took a terrified step backward, recognizing the monster who had butchered the eastern provinces.

Iron-Scale stepped directly into the projection’s line of sight, his draconic eyes locked onto the Earthling. The wind from his emerald core whipped across the chamber, extinguishing the nearby candles.

Chris Pitt stopped tossing the helmet, his smirk faltering as he registered the towering Kobold and the massive Orc general standing behind him. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am the commander of the Vanguard," Iron-Scale answered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. He drew his star-iron dagger and rested the tip against the glowing communication crystal. "We finished cleaning up the Second Continent. You have exactly one day to enjoy your borrowed power before we come to reclaim it."

With a flick of his wrist, Iron-Scale drove the dagger downward, shattering the crystal into a thousand pieces and plunging the room back into sapphire twilight.

He turned toward his commanders, a lethal promise glowing in his eyes.

"We leave at dawn. It is time to hunt a Herald."

When dawn broke over the Great Sea of Glass, the Vanguard and the allied army marched out of the concealed cavern of Sun-Cleft to resume their journey. Iron-Scale walked at the front of the column alongside Roal, guiding the troops across the shifting sands.

The journey for the next few hours was calm and peaceful and they were marching on time without delays.

Suddenly, the ground suddenly split open ahead of the formation. A colossal mechanical sand-spider burst from beneath the dunes.

It stood on eight articulated iron legs and carried a fortified metal carriage on its abdomen. Aethelgard mages leaned out of the carriage windows and immediately began charging their arcane cannons.

"Hold the line!" General Krax shouted. He pointed his greataxe toward the machine. "Blood-Mane warriors, show them the strength of the Seventeenth Continent!"

Arch-Mage Thalric stepped forward and raised a staff topped with a glowing sapphire. The sand-spider fired a barrage of energy bolts at the vanguard lines. Thalric spun his staff to weave a dome of silver mana over the advancing infantry. The incoming energy splashed harmlessly against the magical shield.

"Vayne, take the legs!" Thalric yelled over the sounds of combat.

Commander Vayne unsheathed a pair of curved scimitars and sprinted across the burning sand. His blades glowed bright blue as he leaped toward the front right limb of the spider. He struck the iron joint with precise force and severed the metal instantly. The machine listed to one side as its internal gears ground in protest.

Krax used the opening to launch himself into the sky. He landed directly on the armored hull and hacked through the metal plating. Shards of iron flew in all directions as he carved a path toward the mages inside the carriage.

’These metal toys are absolutely nothing against true warriors,’ Krax thought, grinning as he swung his weapon.

Gulag watched the display and cracked her knuckles. She looked over at Iron-Scale. "They have the top covered. I will make sure the bug stays above ground."

She stepped forward and slammed her palms into the sand. ’Let us see how well you dig through solid bedrock,’ she thought. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

She pulled the subterranean bedrock upward until solid stone pillars clamped around the remaining legs of the spider. The mechanical beast screeched as its joints snapped under the rising earth. The stone pinned it completely to the surface.

Iron-Scale observed the coordinated assault from the head of the main army. He watched the vassal commanders work in tandem. The allied forces functioned perfectly as a highly capable elite unit.

"Finish it," Iron-Scale ordered.

Krax kicked the reinforced doors of the carriage open and waded inside. He swung his axe in a wide arc to eliminate the Aethelgard mages within. The mechanical outpost soon sat as a smoking ruin of iron and stone.

"Form up!" Krax yelled down from the smoking carriage to the waiting troops.

The allied army marched straight past the wreckage to continue their push east.

The allied army crested the final ridge of the Great Sea of Glass and looked down upon the eastern provinces. The golden dunes abruptly ended, replaced by a nightmare of crushed geography.

The entire mesas had been flattened into perfect, unnaturally smooth disks of compressed rock. Craters spanning miles across dotted the landscape, looking as though invisible meteors had slammed into the earth.

This was the aftermath of Chris Pitt’s gravity magic.

Iron-Scale walked down the ridge to inspect the devastation. He crouched beside a localized depression in the sand, noting how the grains were compacted so tightly they formed translucent glass.

"He alters the fundamental weight of reality," Iron-Scale observed, standing back up. "A localized application of absolute force."

"It looks like a giant stepped on the world," Gulag commented. She crossed her arms and surveyed the ruined valleys. "I can manipulate the earth, but creating uniform compression on this scale requires an absurd amount of mana."

General Krax gripped his greataxe and pointed toward a cluster of shattered ruins near the edge of the nearest crater. A small group of figures huddled beneath the overhang of a collapsed temple roof. They wore the scorched remnants of bronze armor and tattered sun-bleached cloaks.

"Survivors," Krax announced.

The commanders approached the ruins. The hidden figures scrambled backward, raising bent spears and cracked bronze shields in defense. There were barely fifty of them, starving and covered in dust.

"Lower your weapons," Iron-Scale ordered. He raised a hand to signal his peaceful intent. "I won’t repeat myself."

A man missing his left arm stepped forward. His bronze breastplate bore the emblem of a diving hawk. He stared at the massive Orc and the towering Vanguard commander with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"You are the army from the west," the soldier rasped. He dropped his bent spear and collapsed to his knees. "I am Captain Vorn of the Sun-Spear Legion. You are too late. Our King is dead. The capital is gone."

Roal walked past Krax to offer the injured man a waterskin. Vorn drank greedily before looking back at the vast allied force waiting on the ridge.

"The golden monster slaughtered everyone," Vorn wept. His voice cracked with emotion. "He crushed the royal guard into paste with a wave of his hand. He laughed while he did it."

Iron-Scale placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Where did the Herald go? We tracked his communication signal, and we need his exact heading to hunt him down."

Vorn looked up. A look of profound terror washed over his dirt-streaked face.

"He did not leave," Vorn whispered.

The captain grabbed Iron-Scale’s armored forearm with a trembling hand.

"He told us to wait right here. He said an army of western fools would cross the ridge today, and he wanted an audience to watch him break you."

The pebbles near Iron-Scale’s boots suddenly began to float.

Gulag looked down in alarm as the compacted sand entirely lost its gravity, drifting upward like snow falling in reverse. The ambient sunlight in the valley violently distorted, bending toward a single point in the sky directly above the allied formation.

A mocking, arrogant voice echoed across the crushed landscape, amplified by pure magic. Undoubtedly, it belonged to Herald and classmate of Red, Chris Pitt.

"Welcome to the eastern border. Let us see how well you fly."

The entire valley floor violently ripped upward.