The sky burned as the earth turned to mud with the blood of men.

The screams of pain and cries of desperation fell to the wayside in favor of the shouts of commands and the drums of explosions.

Medics and Healers ran down the muddy trenches, rushing to reach their comrades before it was too late. Soldiers stopped what they were doing to step aside for them.

Two Medics crowded around a young man leaning against the trench wall, a piece of metal shrapnel from a nearby broken Golem lodged in his shoulder. An explosion erupted just outside the trench, raining dirt on the men. A nearby soldier dropped his Rifle to cover the injured man with his own body.

Golems standing a dozen meters tall protected the Zalarians with the Mana Shields and if necessary, their bodies, as they returned fire with the massive Mana Cannons welded to their shoulders.

The soldiers themselves returned fire as best as they could, but they knew the effect they had was minimal. Each time soldiers stood up at the front of the trench, fewer were able to duck back down.

Far in the distance, the Demon Forces unleashed whatever attack they could, but they were struggling. They had never experienced such a way of war. The only wars they knew were ones where the majority of combatants were melee warriors, of various types. As such, their own forces mimicked that.

Many of their troops were capable of ranged attacks, but only a few could use them at a 'safe' distance. Safe being several hundred meters away.

Any one of their soldiers, Devil or Argalon, that got within two hundred meters were wiped out, their bodies being reduced to little more than mangled clumps of bloody and burned flesh. Even at three hundred meters, the Demon Forces were taking loses.

Two hundred meters were much too far for their Argalon Mages to disable the System of the Zalarians. And at that range, any spell they cast to somehow disrupt the Zalarian Defensive Line were detected and countered. Sometimes the spells had some impact, several collapsed trenches or Golems reduced to molten slag were proof of that.

The Argalon Commander in charge of retaking this portion of their home world grit his teeth until he heard his jaw creak.

When his Army had first stepped foot back in this world, they had easily slaughtered their way through the Lissurians. The city of Calaren had proven to be only a mere pebble in their path. It had only taken his forces three days to crack the outer wall and another two systematically exterminate the Human vermin.

But now, they faced a prepared and determined force. One that refused to back down an inch.

The Commander hesitantly gave his respect to them, though he did wish they would just lay down and die like the rats they were.

Their target, the city these Humans called Nexan, under the jurisdiction of these Zalarians, had proven a tougher nut to crack, and they had not even reached its walls.

The Demon Forces were stuck two hundred meters beyond the trenches, but those trenches stretched over a mile in every direction from the city.

'This is going to be a long fight.' The commander thought.

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On the other side, standing atop the walls of Nexan, overseeing the setup of the Zalarians' newest weapon, basically just a large Mana Cannon, but this one specialized in long range indirect fire, Catherine glared at the enemy as the forest they took cover in was gradually reduced to ash and dust.

This Cannon, a massive hunk of masterful engineering and enchanting, was amply named BRT-7, or Bertha by the engineers.

Catherine was glad she had given a nugget of advice that increased the speed that Cartha could reload another shot. Despite that, it still took an entire crew to reload each shot, and it still took over five minutes. Her advice had only reduced the reload time down from seven.

Luckily, the Zalarians were masters of industrialization, just as much as they were inventors.

Right now, the walls of Nexan were being equipped with one hundred BRT's. It would just take a few days to set them up without doing the Demon's job of destroying the city.

The BRT used a single cannister, the size of a fifty gallon barrel, filled with compacted liquid Mana. Mechanisms within the Cannon converted the Mana, enough to destroy a village in each, into a condensed blast of volatile Mana, and sending it hurtling out of the Cannon's barrel faster than any crossbow.

The condensed Mana would then shatter on impact, unleashing the full force, and the reason it was forbidden to experiment with Mana within populated areas, resulting in a massive fiery explosion that would consume everything in its path.

Unfortunately, even if they figured a faster way to remove the expended barrel and transfer the prepared barrel without killing everyone, the Cannon itself requires time to recharge the Enchantments.

Catherine continued to watch the battle, excited to see the range of the BRT's. Unfortunately, the BRT's range was limited to a little shorter than a mile. Meaning, that in order to use them, the Demons would have to have pushed the Infantry and Golems back far enough to be within the Trenches themselves.

If everything went well, the BRT's would be set up and crewed well before they would be used.

Which meant that everyone was rushing to get them set up as fast as they could without killing everyone. Because in war, nothing ever goes well. And if something does go well, duck, because its an ambush.

That was why Catherine was here, overseeing it. She was there to supply the Undead needed to move the massive equipment. They weren't smart, but they didn't need to be. The engineers and enchanters would ensure everything was connected properly, the Undead merely had to get them in place.

But she could not do anything. Despite her interest, and her assistance, the Zalarians had been quite secretive about the construction of these BRT's. She could not do anything to help.

Nor would she if she could.

She was too focused on her Master, who remained unconscious laying in a bed, somewhere in Onigas, as his sister sat by his bed, holding his hand.

So here she stood, doing what she could.

At least she turned her attention into helping their allies.

Vivian was doing her utmost to harass the Demons at any chance she could with her flock of Undead Fliers. She attacked any vulnerable targets or assisted whoever she wanted. She was currently somewhere in the Northeast of Lissura.

Fenrir, however, was currently on a rampage through the Northwest of Lissura. His contingent of Skeletal Werewolves raced through the forests, shredding any Demonic resistance they encountered. Fenrir allowed himself to let out his frustrations.

The rest of the Death Knights were spread out through Ivrand, Onigas, and Galmore, ensuring the defenses and tunnel connecting the cities were enough. Each one of her friends were doing their best, but without the leadership and guidance of their Master, Catherine was struggling to juggle all the moving pieces.

They were a mess. They all knew it.

Catherine leaned against the battlements with a sigh. Catherine knew what her Master was going through, perhaps not its intensity, but its principle. She had seen many others go through the same struggle and fail to come out the other end still breathing.

But perhaps the worst part, she knew there was nothing she could do to help. Even if she was there, with him, there was nothing she, or anyone else could do to help him.

Whether he would wake up, would be up to him, and him alone.

Catherine trusted her Master would wake up. He had been through so much to save his sister. He would not leave her alone, just as he finally reunited with her, not when the stakes had never been higher.

The only thing Catherine feared…when her Master woke up, would he be the same person?

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