Underground, everything was different, and it was felt immediately, as soon as the light from the surface vanished along with the sense of open space. There was neither sky nor plain, nor those frozen beams that reached upward — only the enclosed space of tunnels, where the air felt heavier and motionless. There was almost no light, and it did not attempt to illuminate everything around, but merely highlighted fragments from the darkness. Dim lanterns, hung along the walls and fixed on protrusions, cast a yellow, uneven glow that flickered with every breath of air, creating long, distorted shadows. These shadows moved along with the working figures, stretching, breaking, overlapping, and because of this, the space seemed even tighter and deeper than it really was.
Sound here was different too. It did not spread out like on the surface, but gathered, reflected off the walls, and returned, becoming dense and weighty. Hammers struck in a strict rhythm, unbroken for even a moment, as if it was not the effort of those holding them, but the very necessity of continuing the work that dictated the pace. Each strike was precise, and the metal responded with a dull, resonant tone, as if each contact had to overcome a resistance inherent to its very nature. Ropes stretched and creaked, their thick, pitch-soaked fibers straining to hold the load, keeping massive components from shifting or collapsing. They pulled enormous elements upward and sideways, fixing them in place until other parts were aligned and secured. Sometimes the ropes trembled under the tension, and it seemed they might snap at any moment, but each time they held, continuing to perform their task.
The mechanism occupied almost the entire tunnel, leaving no free space. It was too large, and this was obvious even to those who themselves exceeded ordinary sizes. Even to the giants, accustomed to massive objects and heavy labor, its scale seemed excessive, as if it were not meant to exist here, underground. Its components blocked the view, forcing one to navigate around them, squeeze between segments, and work in tight quarters, where every movement had to be precise not to disturb what was already secured. Huge fragments connected to one another, interlocking, fixing into a single structure, and with each new connection, it became clear that this was no mechanism meant for transport. There was no flexibility, no adaptability — only weight, direction, and purpose.
It was inherently immobile, but that did not mean it was static. On the contrary, its entire construction spoke of movement designed to happen only once — but that single instance would be enough. It was a weapon. But at that moment, it did not yet exist as a whole. It was in the process of formation, in a state where each part already mattered, yet only together could they achieve completion. It was not being used — it was being created, and in each hammer strike, in every taut rope, it was clear that this process could not be stopped or postponed, because the very necessity of its existence was already predetermined.
Then the precise, almost unnaturally steady rhythm began to falter — not sharply, not immediately, but gradually, as if something beyond the established order had interfered. At first came a grind — low, resonant, as though something heavy was dragged across stone without care for the noise. Then came scratching, sharper and more insistent, as if many claws sought purchase on the surface simultaneously, leaving deep, ragged trails behind. The sound came from the tunnel's depths, where the lanterns' light did not reach and where the darkness had grown dense, almost tangible. It did not appear suddenly — it approached slowly, inexorably, growing louder with each second, filling the space as confidently as the hammer rhythm had before.
The defenders did not turn immediately, and this was neither carelessness nor hesitation. They already knew what it meant. This sound was familiar, as was the reason it appeared. The battle underground had begun long before the mechanism took shape, and all this time they had held back the onslaught from that side of the tunnel, preventing it from reaching the workers. Yet this resistance was not victory — only a delay. The horde neither retreated nor weakened; it pressed continuously, step by step, forcing the defenders to slowly give ground. The line of defense moved deeper, and every retreat was not from panic but necessity, because holding the previous positions had become impossible.
Now, as the sound approached too closely to be ignored, the tension became tangible even without looking. The hammer rhythm no longer rang by itself — it mingled with this new noise, losing its clarity, and it became evident that the moment when these two sounds would merge entirely was near.
When the defensive line cracked, it did not happen suddenly. At first, only signs of weakness appeared: stone and armor slightly shifted, small fragments crumbled, cracks began to spread along the ranks of defenders. They still tried to hold formation, but they knew effort alone was insufficient. Through the emerging gap appeared claws — long, curved, biting into stone and armor, leaving deep furrows. They reached forward, followed by elongated, alien arms, disproportionately large, as if made for destruction.
Then the beast fully emerged. Its body was immense — about five meters tall, broad-chested, with heavy muscles and powerful limbs. Fangs almost the length of a human arm gleamed in the dim light, and with a single motion, it tore apart the defender standing in its way, as if the body were merely an obstacle for its claws. The remaining line felt sudden pressure, and the first row instantly scattered, giving way to the horde that followed. The beast surged forward, and each step pressed the ground with a force capable of shattering the stone spikes beneath the defenders, opening the way for the rest of the monsters.
The defenders rushed at it, gathering all their skill and courage, trying to block its path, but the beast did not slow. It moved forward with terrifying resolve, each strike of its claws turning the attackers' bodies into scattered fragments, as if their mass were an illusion and flesh a light fabric to be torn effortlessly. Behind it, the horde of smaller but no less ferocious creatures followed. They were faster, their movements coordinated, and their numbers rendered the defenders' attempts nearly meaningless. Black blood splattered walls, staining the stone with dark streaks, and the sound of tearing flesh did not cease for a second, echoing throughout the tunnel and battlefield. All of it surged toward the workers, who, absorbed in creating the mechanism, barely managed to react to the impending catastrophe. Every movement of the monsters brought them closer to their goal, and resistance seemed only to slow the inevitable destruction.
Then one of the defenders stepped forward, leaving behind the line of workers and other guards. She knelt, as if acknowledging that the power she was about to summon required complete humility and utmost focus. In her hands was an amulet — a stone disc, uneven, worn by time and labor, heavy and cold, as if the material itself resisted her touch, forcing her fingers to strain harder than usual. She clutched it, and it seemed the weight of the plain and the struggle rested upon her shoulders.
Then words sounded — quiet, yet filled with power, not spoken into the air, but into the very stone beneath their feet:
"God of Stone and Weight, who does not bow — hear us. Grant us to stand when the line breaks. Grant us not to falter when they come. Let their steps grow heavy, let their hands weaken, let the earth itself hold them. And make us harder than stone, quieter than fear, immovable as fate. Let them halt. And let us endure."
The words hung in the air and simultaneously penetrated the earth, echoing as a faint, dull reverberation. The amulet began to glow with a subtle inner light, transmitting her strength to the ground, and the sense of heaviness she invoked began to spread, slowly altering the course of the battle.
When the prayer ended, the space before the defender began to transform, as if reality itself responded to her words. The barrier did not appear instantly — first, there was only a strange sensation, light but tangible, as if the air had thickened and become heavy. Then this feeling grew into resistance: every movement of the beasts, of each giant, slowed, as though an invisible force enveloped their bodies.
Moments later, silence — complete, uninterrupted by sound. The movement on the plain halted. The beasts surging toward the workers began to be covered in a stony crust, their muscles and hides hardening, bones becoming weighty, breathing barely audible. Not only them — even the giants standing beyond the invisible barrier felt a strange weight. Stone touched their bodies, slowing and binding their movements, turning them into motionless silhouettes.
Soon everything around became a single sculpture. The battlefield froze, silent, as if time itself had halted with them. Beasts and giants alike were turned into stone statues. Their poses, expressions, and even the smallest details — folds of armor, tension in the muscles — were captured in that moment forever.
Except for one — the massive beast continued to move. It walked slowly, each motion requiring tremendous effort, as if the very weight of stone pressed on its muscles and bones. The stone crust gradually enveloped its body, turning skin into a hard surface and muscles into immobile blocks, yet it did not stop. Its steps were heavy, resonant, each strike of its hooves or paws sending tremors through the ground, and the air around filled with the grinding of stone against stone. It approached the defender slowly, overcoming the distance between them, stopping only a step away. Its enormous claws nearly touched her face, leaving the sense of inescapable threat, yet every detail of its movement, each muscle and bone under the stone crust, seemed frozen between past and present, as if caught between life and stony death. In that moment, weight, power, and slow, relentless momentum made it simultaneously terrifying and majestic, alive yet almost part of the stony silence around.
The silence did not last long. The stone binding their movement could not withstand the strain and cracked. With a snap and crunch, life returned to the battlefield, shattering the pause granted by the prayer. The defenders barely had time to regroup, forming a new line from the remnants of their surviving comrades, when the beast surged forward, ignoring the stone crust that restrained it. Its claws, massive and deadly, pierced the defender, and her body fell, leaving a trail of horrific strikes behind. It tore through all who stood in its path, scattering armor and bodies across the stone plain, each second bringing back the chaos and death to the field that had seemed frozen in an instant of silence.
When the last hammer struck a massive bolt, the mechanism was complete. Its huge segments, interlocked, began to move with a dull grind, and the earth could not withstand it — not in one place, but several at once. Cracks spread across the plain, shattering stone spikes and frozen beams of light. Layers of soil parted, vibrations running through the bodies of giants, the statues of defenders, through frozen flowers and grass, as if the plain itself resisted movement. Slowly, heavily, with effort, the mechanism began to rise, pushing the earth aside, emerging, revealing what it had been built for — a weapon of unprecedented power, slowly awakening chaos across the battlefield.
The soil split, and from it rose the weapons — not one, but several, each incredibly massive and heavy. They did not burst out violently, but seemed to force themselves upward through the earth, breaking stone, displacing layers of soil, carving a path with force rather than speed. Each weapon dug its massive supports into the ground, securing itself to bear its own weight, raising its heavy construction toward the sky, its purpose clear — to pierce anything moving above.
When they finally began to fire, the sound was not loud but weighty, pressing, like the hum of the earth itself. Metal scraped, rods strained, gears turned with effort, and each bolt that struck tore angels trying to hold the battlefield into pieces, falling to the ground, leaving only white feathers mixed with stone dust and blood. Each second transformed the sky into a deadly labyrinth, where no wing beat could protect, no motion offered a chance to survive.
Angels began to fall, their trajectories cut short by bolts and weapons, yet the sky responded. From above descended spears, hurtling at incredible speed, sharp and precise, as if gravity itself was concentrated in them. They pierced the metal of the mechanisms with ease, as if it were water, tearing through thick plates, breaking joints, shredding connections. Each hit echoed with a dull rumble; metal cracked and sparked, fragments of the construction flying to the ground. The massive weapons that had just threatened the angels began to lose stability, tremble, and crack, freeing space for the angels to move and resist once more.
Then she appeared, majestic and incomprehensible. Her wings spread wide enough to blot out the sun, each beat creating vortices of force. Feathers falling from her wings did not merely drop — they became sharp, deadly spears, piercing the weapons and mechanisms, destroying them effortlessly, as wind snaps fragile branches. The machines that had threatened the angels cracked and crumbled under her blows, metal and stone scattering in all directions, the noise gradually subsiding. Giants, seeing the destruction of the weapons and weakening of the defenses, began to slowly retreat, regrouping in ranks, but the angels did not pursue. They too began to withdraw, maintaining formation and order, leaving the battlefield gradually empty, strewn only with debris, fallen bodies, and clouds of dust settling slowly on the rocky plain.
Then he rose — a giant, whose power was visible even before he fully emerged from the earth. Each motion tore through soil, shattered stone slabs, shifted massive layers of earth, until his height surpassed everything around him. His body was disproportionally vast, each movement heavy but precise, as if gravity itself obeyed him. Skin stretched over muscles seemed dense and unyielding, almost like living armor, and his withered, emaciated arms extended outward, filling the space. He stopped, fully towering over the battlefield, his gaze seemingly encompassing the plain where the war had raged and the ground trembled from destruction and falls. The wind lifted by his height tore the remaining dust and feathers, creating a whirlwind mixing the sound of battle, the scent of blood, and scorching metal.
The angel curled into a cocoon with her immense wings, folding them around herself, closing into a protective shell, and in that moment her body disintegrated into thousands of feathers, sharp and thin like blades. Each feather, separating, began to float and fly in different directions, forming a dense cloud that obscured the giant, simultaneously serving as both shield and weapon. The feathers whirled through the air, whistling, tearing at flesh and armor, cutting through space, creating chaos that was both defense and offense.
But it was not enough. Despite the deadly storm of feathers, the giant stood unwavering, his skin impenetrable, as if tempered by nature itself. The feathers, sharp and swift, only left light scratches on the surface, causing no real harm. The angel, despite all her power and speed, could not pierce his defense, and the giant, in turn, with each movement, tore, crushed, and scattered the feather storm, destroying them one by one. Their attack lost strength, and the space around filled with destruction and despair — neither side could deliver a decisive blow.
Then, deep within the mountain, the Fallen awakened. The tremor from the battle sweeping the plain opened a fissure in the massive rock, and through it, the first beam of light fell upon the frozen statue of the Sun Champion, turned to stone. The stone shell cracked, crumbled, and slowly, almost painfully, the true body emerged from within — the desiccated priest, once mighty and full of life. His skin, thin and clinging to his bones, was rotted and torn in places, revealing the inner layers. Dark veins ran within, carrying thick, putrid blood, a reminder of the long-forgotten decay and emptiness in which he had lingered all these years.
The body twitched, as if recalling movements long forgotten, and slowly forced itself outward, breaking the remnants of the stony shell. Light touched his chest, and through the cracks in his decayed flesh, the heart of light flared, weak and uneven, but alive. He made the long, arduous journey through the halls where statues of priests stood, their faces and names long erased from the world's memory, and past the stone beams of light frozen in time, which had once illuminated temples. His feet stepped over charred remains of a giant skeleton, still holding a sword embedded in the ground. Each movement was slow but deliberate, every step echoing among the silent witnesses of past life and destroyed power.
The light in his chest throbbed unevenly, weaker, but still — it beat, breaking through the desiccated, decayed body. When he emerged from the mountain, his gaze took in the battlefield, where chaos and destruction mingled with stone and blood. He raised his hands, and the light within flared brighter, bursting outward, piercing through the rotting flesh, through bones and cracks. Its heartbeat seemed to bind the breath of the world, and in response, the sun, eclipsing everything, blazed brighter, flooding the plain with blinding light.
The beam fell on the battlefield, and everything around vanished, as if the world itself folded and dissolved in the radiant glow. The angel, with her feather storm, and the giant, towering over the plain, were instantly consumed by the light. In a matter of seconds, they were gone — no bodies, no movement, no cries. All that remained was scorched earth, etched and furrowed, the amulet lying on the ground after the giant emerged from the earth, and residual beams freed from their stony confinement, now softly scattering across the plain, quietly reminding that the battle had ended, and the world, fragile though it was, had for a moment found peace again.