God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.-Chapter 1440: Attacked Again (1).

# Attacked Again (1)

Cain emerged from the {Draconic Blast Furnace} covered in soot and sweat, but grinning like a madman.

One thousand {Stellar Razors}. All forged. All perfect. Each one stored in his inventory, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice.

The spell evolution framework was complete in his mind—the spatial coordinates mapped out, the mana flow patterns optimized, the targeting algorithms refined. {Falling Stars of Orion} was no longer just a spell. It was a statement.

He’d also managed to forge several dozen other weapons for his allies. Swords for the Lightslayers, spears for the Pilgrims, a particularly vicious war axe for one of Akvi’s Beastmen who’d specifically requested something that could "split a mountain."

All in all, a productive few weeks inside the furnace’s time dilation.

But the moment he stepped outside, he knew something was wrong.

The camp had that particular tension to it—the kind that came right before all hell broke loose. Warriors moved with purpose, checking equipment and forming up into defensive positions. Mages were reinforcing barrier wards. Scouts were rushing back and forth, delivering reports.

Hunter found him within seconds.

"Boss. We’ve got a problem."

"Of course we do." Cain wiped the soot from his face. "How bad?"

"Bad." Hunter gestured toward the camp’s perimeter. "Kaelor Fiends. Thousands of them. Coming from all directions. They’ll hit us in less than an hour."

Cain’s grin didn’t fade. If anything, it widened.

"All directions?"

"North, south, east, west. They’ve got us surrounded." Hunter paused. "You look way too happy about this."

"I just finished forging a thousand magical blades specifically designed to rain death from above. This is perfect timing."

Hunter stared at him for a moment. "You’re insane."

"Probably." Cain started walking toward the command area. "Get everyone ready. I’m going out there."

"Out there? Cain, there are thousands of—"

"I know. That’s the point." Cain flexed his fingers, feeling the power stored within his {Mana Vault}. Still two-thirds full despite all the crafting. More than enough. "I need to test the new spell anyway. Might as well do it against a target-rich environment."

They found Gilead near the northern perimeter, the Pilgrim leader coordinating defensive positions with Susan. The old warrior looked grim, his scarred face set in hard lines.

"Cain. Hunter told you?"

"He did." Cain looked out across the rocky terrain. In the distance, he could see movement—thousands of shapes flowing across the ground like a tide of violence. "How long until they reach us?"

"Forty minutes, maybe less." Gilead pointed to various positions. "We’ve reinforced the chokepoints, established overlapping fields of fire. But there’s too many of them. Once they hit our lines, it’s going to be brutal."

"They won’t hit your lines."

Both Gilead and Susan looked at him.

"What?" Susan asked.

"I’m going out there." Cain started checking his equipment. The {Arbitrator’s Stamp} gloves gleamed on his hands. {Eidwyrm} hung at his hip, the blade practically vibrating with anticipation. "I’ll thin them out before they reach the perimeter."

"That’s suicide," Gilead said flatly. "Even for you."

"Is it though?" Cain met the old warrior’s eyes. "I’ve been holding back since we got here. Being careful, conserving energy, playing it safe because of this damn seal on my body. But you know what? Fuck it. I want to see what I can really do."

Gilead studied him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. "You’ve been waiting for this."

"Damn right I have." Cain looked back at the approaching horde. "Besides, what’s the point of having all this power if I never use it?"

"You’ll have no support out there," Susan warned. "If you get overwhelmed—"

"I won’t." Cain’s confidence wasn’t bravado. It was mathematics. He’d run the numbers in his head during the weeks of forging. He knew exactly what he was capable of now. "Just keep the perimeter secure in case any slip past me."

Hunter sighed. "I hate when you get like this."

"Like what?"

"Excited. You’re always most dangerous when you’re excited." Hunter drew his weapons anyway. "I’m coming with you."

"No. I need you here, coordinating the defense." Cain shook his head. "This is something I need to do alone."

Before anyone could argue further, Cain walked past the perimeter wards and out into the open ground beyond.

The terrain here was relatively flat—just scattered rocks and patches of bare stone. Perfect for what he had planned. No cover for the enemy to hide behind. Nowhere to run when the sky started falling.

He walked about three hundred meters from the camp’s edge and stopped. Close enough that his allies could watch. Far enough that the collateral damage wouldn’t affect them.

Then he waited.

The Kaelor Fiends came into clear view minutes later.

They were nightmarish things. Quadrupedal creatures roughly the size of large dogs, but with elongated bodies covered in chitinous plates that gleamed purple-black in the strange light. Their heads were mostly mouth—circular maws lined with multiple rows of crystalline teeth. No eyes that Cain could see, but they moved with purpose, guided by senses he didn’t understand.

And there were so many of them.

The horde flowed across the ground like a living carpet of teeth and claws. Thousands, easily. Maybe tens of thousands. All of them moving toward the camp with single-minded hunger.

Toward him.

Cain took a deep breath and reached into his {Mana Vault}. The metal star blazed to life, golden energy flooding through his channels. Then the fire star. The wind star. The lightning star. All of them active simultaneously, their combined power making the air around him shimmer with heat and pressure.

The {Arbitrator’s Stamp} gloves activated, the {Seal of Arbitrator} skill harmonizing the different energy types so they didn’t tear each other apart. His mana flowed in perfect coordination, dozens of spell matrices forming in his mind at once.

The Kaelor Fiends were five hundred meters away now. Four hundred. Close enough that he could hear them—a chittering, clicking sound like a million insects all moving together.

Three hundred meters.

Cain raised his hands.

"{Falling Stars of Orion}."

Space tore open above the horde.

Not just one rift. Not a dozen. Hundreds of tiny spatial tears, each one barely large enough to fit a blade through. They appeared in a grid pattern across the sky, covering an area roughly three hundred meters wide.