The Shattered Sky: Only I Do What the Gods Can't

The corrupted's assault evolved into a brutal onslaught. Their methods grew more calculated with every passing hour, each strike dismantling another piece of Riverstone's fragile infrastructure.

What could only be assumed as Fragment-powered attackers targeted water supplies, food stores, and defensible buildings with surgical precision.

The attackers adapted their tactics as they encountered resistance. Some groups deployed coordinated maneuvers, flanking defenders while others struck head-on. Their movements were unnervingly fluid, as though controlled by a singular mind.

Fragment enhancements allowed them to climb walls, tear through barricades, and emit bursts of energy that overwhelmed the village's defenders.

One corrupted, its body heavily modified with gleaming armor-like plating, stormed the granary.

It unleashed a burst of searing energy, reducing the wooden structure to ash. The scent of burning grain filled the air, a stark reminder that the village's survival was slipping away.

As the attack intensified, Marcus ordered the defenders to consolidate their positions. The main square, once a bustling hub of trade and community, became the last line of defense.

Makeshift barriers of overturned carts, barrels, and fragment-enhanced tools formed a fragile perimeter.

Communication was chaotic. Runners moved between groups of defenders, relaying messages and coordinating movements, but the constant assaults made it nearly impossible to maintain order.

"We need more reinforcements on the west side!" Marcus barked, pointing toward a crumbling barricade.

"We don't have anyone left to send!" a villager shouted back.

Despite the odds, the defenders held the line. Each moment bought time for the remaining villagers to regroup and protect what little remained of Riverstone.

Kael fought on the front lines, his spear an extension of his will. He had seen the corrupted up close, their fragmented forms blending dark crystalline structures and flesh in grotesque ways.

Each encounter revealed more about their abilities—and their purpose.

"They're not just attacking randomly," Kael muttered, eyes scanning the battlefield. "They're dismantling us, piece by piece."

He noticed how they avoided certain structures, focusing instead on key resources. The granary, the water pumps, the meeting hall—all were prime targets.

The attackers seemed to understand the village's vulnerabilities better than the villagers themselves.

But understanding their tactics didn't make facing them easier. Every strike and every loss, weighed on Kael's mind.

The corrupted weren't just stronger and faster—they were relentless, their glowing eyes devoid of mercy.

Kael adapted quickly. When his spear's fragment-enhanced tip began to flicker, he switched to using its blunt end, driving attackers back with sheer force. When a group of defenders faltered under the pressure, he rallied them with sharp, decisive orders.

"Hold this line!" he shouted, positioning himself at a weak point in the barricade. "Don't let them through!"

Kael used the terrain to his advantage, forcing attackers into narrow alleys where their numbers meant less.

He scavenged tools from fallen defenders, improvising weapons and reinforcing weak spots in the defenses.

Despite the chaos, Kael's focus never wavered. Each decision, each action, was driven by the need to protect his home, his people—his family.

Marcus moved through the battlefield like a general commanding an army. His experience as a soldier was evident in every order he gave, every adjustment he made.

"Yara, take your group and hold the eastern barricade," he ordered. "Dren, pull back your men and reinforce the west."

He balanced the need to defend with the harsh reality of the situation. When a group of corrupted overwhelmed a key position, Marcus made the difficult decision to abandon it, ensuring his remaining forces could hold elsewhere.

"We can't save every building," he told his men, his voice heavy with regret. "But we can save the people."

The corrupted's fragment enhancements were devastating.

One attacker, its arms replaced with serrated blades of glowing energy, cut through defenders like paper. Another emitted a high-pitched scream that disoriented anyone within range, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

Marcus countered these abilities with quick thinking and teamwork. When the blade-wielding attacker charged, he ordered archers to target its unarmored legs. When the screamer approached, he instructed defenders to cover their ears and coordinate their strikes through hand signals.

Still, the toll was immense. Each encounter left more defenders injured or dead, their numbers dwindling as the attackers pressed on.

The villagers fought bravely, but the emotional toll of the battle was undeniable.

Yara, once a beacon of determination, wept openly as she carried the body of a fallen comrade.

Dren, who had saved countless lives with his quick thinking, now struggled to keep his team together as more of them fell.

For every moment of heroism, there were equal moments of despair. The screams of the wounded, the sight of burning homes, the realization that their village was being systematically destroyed—it all weighed heavily on the defenders.

Kael watched as the granary collapsed, flames consuming the last of the village's food supply.

He saw families huddled together in the meeting hall, their faces etched with fear. He heard the cries of children who had lost their parents in the chaos.

Each loss felt personal, a wound that cut deeper than any weapon. Riverstone wasn't just a collection of buildings—it was a community, a home. And now, it was being torn apart.

The attackers' relentless assault forced the defenders to retreat further into the village. One by one, key sectors fell—the granary, the eastern barricade, the blacksmith's workshop.

Each loss was a blow to the defenders' morale. The granary's destruction meant no food. The blacksmith's workshop meant no tools. Each defeat chipped away at their will to fight.

Marcus regrouped his forces in the square, now the last line of defense.

"This is it," he told Kael, his voice grim. "If we lose the square, we lose everything."

Kael nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon.

As the defenders prepared for what they knew would be the final assault, the figure Kael had glimpsed earlier stepped into view.

Clad in black armor that shimmered with fragment energy, the leader exuded an aura of power. Its movements were deliberate, each step measured, as though it already knew the outcome of the battle.

The defenders froze as the figure raised a hand. A surge of energy radiated outward, knocking several of them off their feet.

Kael stared, his heart pounding. This wasn't just another attacker—it was something far more dangerous.

The leader spoke, its voice calm and ethereal but filled with menace. "Surrender. There is no victory here, only survival. Your choice determines the cost."

Kael stepped forward, his spear glowing faintly in his hands. "We'll never surrender," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him.

The leader tilted its head, as if considering Kael's words. Then it raised its hand again, and the battle for Riverstone entered its final, desperate phase.

As the corrupted's leader advanced, the defenders braced themselves for the fight of their lives. The square became a battlefield of fire and shadow, hope and despair. And amid the chaos, Kael felt a flicker of determination.

The village might fall, but its people would not go quietly.