CHAPTER 2: HORNS AT THE GATE

The descent from the ramparts was a plunge into pandemonium. The orderly panic Hera had witnessed moments ago fractured into pure, screaming chaos. Civilians streamed towards the inner sanctum, a terrified river flowing against the current of armored Valkyries and city guards rushing towards the walls and the deeper threat at the roots. The air, thick with the cloying stench of the demonic horde and the sharp tang of fear, vibrated with the dissonant symphony of war: the guttural roars of beasts, the shrieks of the wounded, the desperate clang of steel on chitin, and the ever-present, maddening peal of the invasion bells.

Hera, Sigrún, and Luna moved with the grim purpose of a spearhead. Hera led, Stormbringer held low, its runes blazing a path through the panicked crowds. Her senses were hyper-alert, attuned to the ebb and flow of battle, the surge of demonic energy emanating from the south. Sigrún flanked her, a crimson-clad shadow, her heavier glaive held ready, her eyes constantly scanning side streets and rooftops for threats bypassing the main defenses. Her expression was granite, etched with a fury born of terror – terror for the city, for her friends, but most acutely, for the tiny life sheltered in the palace. Luna brought up the rear, not running but flowing, her feet barely seeming to touch the cobblestones. Her hands were held slightly away from her body, fingers curled as if plucking invisible strings. A faint, cool luminescence, the color of moonlight, haloed her, pushing back the encroaching shadows and the miasma, creating a bubble of clarity around them.