DAY THREE

  The human city—one of the largest on the continent—stood directly in their path. Under normal circumstances, the Drow would have bypassed it entirely, maintaining the ancient agreements that kept the occulted bloodlines at maximum distance from human affairs. But these were not normal circumstances.

  From their vantage point on the descending slopes, they could see the city was already in turmoil. Military vehicles patrolled the streets. And crowds gathered in public spaces, their eyes turned fearfully to the sky where Nibiru's approach was now visible as an ominous black dot. Religious groups held signs proclaiming various apocalyptic messages.

  "They sense what comes," Verin observed. "Even without understanding."

  "Focus, Lord Verin. Their fear makes them dangerous," Ronya countered. "Look—they've established checkpoints at all major thoroughfares."

  Mar'Dun studied the sprawling urban landscape, calculating. "We need only pass through the northeastern partition. If we maintain maximum speed, we might be through before they can organize an effective response."

  It was a desperate plan, but they had no alternatives. The Drow forces reordered themselves, placing their most combat-ready warriors at the perimeter while the remaining elders and children were sheltered at the center. Those too weak to continue at pace were given a choice—remain behind or join what might become a fighting retreat.

  None chose to stay.

  They descended the final slopes like an oily avalanche. By the time the first human sentry spotted them, the front edge of their formation was already entering the city outskirts.

  The reaction was immediate and predictable. Alarms wailed and emergency broadcasts interrupted their already urgent programming.

  "Hold formation!" Mar'Dun commanded as they flowed through the suburban streets. "Engage only to defend yourself, the elders, or the children!"

  For a brief, hopeful moment, it seemed they might pass through with minimal confrontation. Humans fled before them, too shocked by the sudden appearance of thousands of twilight-skinned, white-haired beings moving at impossible speeds to do more than scramble out of their path.

  Then the military responded.

  The first roadblock appeared at a major intersection—armored vehicles, concrete barriers, and nervous soldiers with automatic weapons. A commander with a megaphone ordered them to halt and identify themselves.

  "We cannot stop," Mar'Dun decided. "Verin, create a path!"

  Lord Verin nodded once, then accelerated ahead of the main force. His speed increased to be, precisely, marginally faster than the average military-trained human’s reaction time. This calculation was standard knowledge among warriors of most occulted bloodlines, who studied human capabilities extensively as part of their tactical education. Moving at this carefully calibrated speed, Verin appeared not as an invisible blur but as a dark figure moving with impossible intelligent agility.

  The soldiers tracked him with their weapons, their fingers tightening on their triggers, but each time they established a lock on him, Verin had already shifted position enough to render their aim ineffective while maintaining perfect control of his own movements. He dismantled the roadblock with surgical efficiency, systematically overturned vehicles, shattered concrete barriers with strategic force, and displaced soldiers, making sure to incapacitate them without killing. The entire engagement didn’t last ten seconds. Ten precious seconds they already couldn’t afford to lose.

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  The Drow forces poured through the gap before the humans could regroup, continuing their relentless pace deeper into the city.

  But the military response escalated. Planes appeared overhead, tracking their movement. More roadblocks formed ahead. And now, inevitably, the shooting began.

  The first bullets rained down from the planes—warning shots aimed to stop rather than kill. When these were ignored, more accurate fire followed, striking several Drow at the group’s edges.

  "Evade and press on!" Mar'Dun ordered, even as he witnessed his people falling to human weapons. "We cannot afford to engage!"

  But the city's layout worked against them. What had appeared from above as a clear path to the northeastern exit now revealed itself as a maze of dead ends and bottlenecks. The Drow formation fractured as different groups were forced to divert around obstacles, losing their cohesive protection.

  In one suburban district, a group of civilians had armed themselves with whatever weapons they could find—hunting rifles, shotguns, and even improvised explosives. Driven by terror and the ancient human instinct to fear what they didn't understand, they opened fire on a group that included several children.

  Lord Verin arrived just as the first shots were fired.

  And what followed was both heroic and terrible to witness.

  Moving faster than he ever has, he desperately swatted the projectiles that would have struck the vulnerable Drow children. At the same time, he demonstrated precisely why the occulted bloodlines had been such fearsome legends in human mythology.

  Verin then disabled the armed humans with surgical precision, moving among them like calligraphy. Weapons were wrenched from their hands, and those who resisted found themselves rendered unconscious with strikes too swift to see. Not a single human life was taken, but the threat was neutralized in seconds.

  "Move!" he shouted to the children and their protectors. "I will find the others and guide them to the exit!"

  Similar scenes played out across the city as the Drow fought not to kill but to pass through. It was a testament to Mar'Dun's leadership and their discipline that they maintained this restraint despite the provocations and losses.

  The city's human defenders, however, grew increasingly desperate as they failed to stop or even slow the inexplicable ‘invasion.’ Orders came down to use heavier weapons, prompting tanks to move into position and more sophisticated aircraft to replace the other craft.

  As the bulk of the Drow force approached the northeastern exit, they found their path blocked by the heaviest concentration of military presence yet—a last-ditch effort to halt their advance.

  Mar'Dun, who had refrained from using his full abilities to conserve energy for the journey ahead, realized that restraint was no longer an option. Standing before his people, facing the assembled human forces, he released a fraction of his emanation. He was too exhausted to fully control it. He knew it would affect both his people and the humans for a short while. But there was no other choice.

  The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Tanks suddenly weighed too much for their suspensions, which crumpled under the multiplied mass. Planes fought for altitude against forces that dragged them inexorably downward. Soldiers found themselves pinned to the ground, their lungs barely able to draw breath.

  "RUN!" Mar'Dun commanded. Sweat covered his being, and the veins in his temples stood out prominently as he channeled power none of these humans had ever known existed.

  The Drow forces flowed around the immobilized human defenses, finally breaking free of the city limits into open countryside beyond. Mar'Dun held the effect until the last of his people had passed, then released it with a gasping exhale before rejoining the evacuation at its head.

  The city crossing had cost them dearly. Nearly three hundred Drow had been lost—some to human weapons, others simply collapsed from the added strain of combat on top of their already exhausted state. And worse, their tight schedule had been shattered. What should have taken five minutes had consumed nearly one hour.

  "We must make up the time," Mar'Dun declared, pushing himself to even greater speeds as they left the city behind. The remaining Drow followed his example, their pace increasing beyond what any had thought possible long ago.

  Behind them, the human city reeled. Reports would later speak of "demons" and "invaders from another world," but some witnesses described the event differently—as the passage of refugees fleeing some calamity only they could foresee.

  Among these was a young military medic who had tended both injured humans and fallen Drow. She reported that one dying Drow had grasped her hand and whispered a warning: "When the waters rise, seek high ground. The black sun brings the flood."

  By the end of the third day, the Drow had pushed their bodies past all previous limits, the pace had taken a devastating toll. Of the thousands who had begun the journey, fewer than five hundred remained.

  And still, the mountains of Makhonjwa were not yet in sight.