The Iron Ridge lived up to its name, a jagged, vertical spine of black rock that sliced into the belly of the storm clouds. Halfway up the ascent, tucked into the mouth of a weeping limestone cavern, Marcus and his remaining Hunters had made their stand. The air here was thin and bitter, smelling of ozone and the scorched earth of the portal Marcus was frantically trying to stabilize.
The portal hummed, a sickly, pulsating circle of neon white that flickered like a dying star.
"Faster!" Marcus screamed, his voice cracking against the wind. He was no longer the composed Commander of the Border Guard. His cloak was torn, and his eyes were wide with a frantic, twitching terror. He kept looking back at the narrow mountain path, expecting the darkness itself to grow teeth.
"The ritual is fa
