The Unbroken Deception

The air reeked of smoke and iron. Captain Elias Varek wiped the blood from his brow, his fingers trembling as they curled around the hilt of his sword. Around him, the remnants of the Twelfth Legion stood battered but unbroken, their armor dented, their faces streaked with grime. The battlefield was a graveyard of fallen comrades and enemies alike, the earth churned into mud by the relentless march of war.

"They're regrouping," Sergeant Kael muttered, his voice hoarse. He pointed toward the distant ridge where the enemy banners fluttered against the ashen sky. "Another wave before nightfall."

Elias exhaled sharply. His ribs ached where a spear had glanced off his cuirass, and his left eye was swollen from a stray fist. But pain was secondary now. The Legion had held the pass for three days against impossible odds, buying time for the capital's defenses. They couldn't afford to break.

"Then we hold," Elias said, tightening his grip on his sword. "We hold until the last man."

A bitter laugh came from his right. Lieutenant Mira Soren leaned against a shattered shield, her dark hair matted with sweat. "Last man standing gets the honor of telling the king how we died," she said, though her smirk didn't reach her eyes.

Elias met her gaze. Mira had been with him since the beginning—since the first skirmishes in the northern wastes. She had seen the worst of the war, and yet, she still fought with the same reckless defiance. It was why he trusted her.

"If we die," Elias said, "we die knowing we bled them dry."

A horn sounded in the distance, low and mournful. The enemy was advancing.

Elias turned to the surviving legionnaires, his voice cutting through the tension. "Shields up! Spears ready! They want this pass? They'll pay for it in blood!"

The Twelfth roared in response, their voices raw but unbroken.

---

The enemy came like a storm.

Armored infantry surged forward, their blackened shields locked in a wall of steel. Archers loosed volleys from behind, arrows hissing through the air like vipers. Elias raised his shield just in time, feeling the impact shudder through his arm as an arrow embedded itself in the wood.

"Hold the line!" Kael bellowed.

The first clash was brutal. Swords rang against shields, men screamed, and the earth trembled beneath the weight of the struggle. Elias fought mechanically, his body moving on instinct. Parry. Strike. Step forward. Again.

Then he saw it—a flicker of movement behind the enemy ranks. A figure in dark robes, hands raised, lips moving in silent incantation.

A mage.

"Mira!" Elias barked. "Left flank—mage!"

She didn't hesitate. Mira broke from the line, darting through the chaos with the grace of a shadow. The enemy didn't see her coming until it was too late. Her dagger found the mage's throat before he could finish his spell, and the air crackled with dissipating energy.

But the victory was short-lived.

Another horn—this one deeper, more resonant—echoed across the battlefield. The enemy ranks parted, and Elias's blood turned to ice.

A war machine.

It was a monstrous construct of iron and magic, its joints hissing steam, its massive fists crackling with sorcerous energy. The Legion had heard rumors of these abominations, but none had ever faced one.

"Fall back!" Elias ordered, but the words were swallowed by the machine's roar as it lumbered forward, crushing friend and foe alike beneath its tread.

Mira reappeared at his side, her breath ragged. "We can't stop that thing."

Elias clenched his jaw. "We don't have to stop it. We just have to slow it down."

He turned to Kael. "Get the wounded out. Now."

The sergeant hesitated. "And you?"

Elias met his gaze. "Someone has to buy you time."

Mira's hand closed around his wrist. "Like hell you're doing this alone."

Elias almost smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

---

The machine was faster than it looked.

Elias and Mira dodged its first strike, the ground erupting where its fist landed. The impact sent them sprawling, but they rolled to their feet, circling the beast.

"Any bright ideas?" Mira panted.

Elias eyed the machine's joints, the glowing runes along its spine. "Magic has to power it. Find the source."

Mira nodded and lunged, her dagger flashing as she carved a gash into the machine's leg. It bellowed—a sound like grinding metal—and swung at her, but Elias was already moving. He drove his sword into the creature's side, aiming for the runes.

The blade sparked against enchanted metal. The machine shuddered, then backhanded him with enough force to send him skidding across the dirt.

Elias tasted blood. His vision swam, but he forced himself up.

Mira was still fighting, her movements desperate now. The machine had her cornered.

Elias reached for his sword—then stopped.

A whisper in his mind. A memory.

His father's voice, years ago, teaching him the old ways. *Magic answers to will, boy. Even the broken can command it.*

Elias wasn't a mage. But he was desperate.

He closed his eyes and *pushed*.

The world erupted in light.

---

When the dust settled, the machine was a smoldering wreck.

Mira staggered to her feet, staring at Elias in disbelief. "What the hell was that?"

Elias looked at his hands. They were unmarked, but something inside him felt... different. Hollow.

"I don't know," he admitted.

A shout came from the ridge. The enemy was retreating.

For now.

Kael appeared, his face grim. "We lost too many."

Elias nodded. The Twelfth had held the pass. But at what cost?

And what had he just awakened?

Mira studied him, her expression unreadable. "This isn't over."

No. It wasn't.

Elias turned his gaze toward the capital, where the real war waited.

And the deception that had started it all.