Sanctuary: Safe Haven

The fifth day of creating a stronghold for the sanctuary was beginning to feel like a lifetime. Despite all the meticulous planning and strategies laid out, reality was much harsher. The sheer number of monsters swarming the battlefield was far beyond anything anyone could have imagined. Not only were there too many, but these were not the typical monsters—they were higher-ranked, faster, stronger, and more cunning. The monsters seemed to come in endless waves, and despite the bravery and skill of the sanctuary warriors, they were being pushed to their limits.

Even after days of fighting, the sanctuary's forces were still standing, though barely. The fact that the normal warriors were holding the line against such overwhelming odds was already a miracle in itself. The situation had forced them to retreat four times. Each retreat felt like a bitter defeat, but every time, they regrouped, determined to hold the line again.

On the battlefield, only two figures remained, Canna and his firstborn, Mortem. Since day one, Canna hadn't stopped fighting. He had lost track of time, his mind fixated solely on one thing: killing.

The endless waves of enemies were like a tide that never ceased, and Canna had become a relentless force of nature, cutting down anything that came within reach of his blade.

The guardians of the sanctuary had held their own for a long time as well, but unlike Canna, their strength was finite. Even the mighty guardians could only endure for so long before exhaustion and depleted mana forced them to withdraw. They had no choice but to return to the sanctuary, leaving Canna and Mortem to continue the onslaught.

Back at the sanctuary, Vorgrim was rallying the troops again. The warriors were battered, their bodies tired, but their spirits were unbroken. Their eyes still burned with a fire that refused to die, even after the countless waves of monsters they had fought off. Despite already proving their strength, they couldn't let Canna bear the burden alone. Not after everything.

Vorgrim raised his fist in the air, signaling for another charge. The shock troops, sanctuary warriors, and even some of the restless dwarves who had joined the fight roared in unison. The battle resumed with renewed vigor. Spells flew across the battlefield, undead beasts fought alongside the warriors, and high-tier magic lit up the sky. The sanctuary warriors were fighting like an unyielding storm.

This time, they held the line longer than before. The clash was fierce, the ground trembling with every step and strike. Two hours passed before Noctis had to teleport the first warrior back to the sanctuary. That alone was a testament to how much stronger they had become, how determined they were to succeed. But even as more hours passed, the battle showed no signs of slowing down.

Canna, in the heart of it all, was barely recognizable. His once regal robes had been reduced to tattered remnants, his bare chest exposed, stained with blood—both his own and that of the countless monsters he had slain. But still, he did not stop. He could not stop. The more blood his scythe absorbed, the more strength it fed him, making him an unstoppable force. His eyes glowed with a primal intensity as he cleaved through the hordes, his every swing releasing arcs of lightning that charred anything nearby.

With each kill, Canna grew stronger, his connection to the Bloodfang Scythe deepening. He was fighting at a level few could even comprehend, bringing down monsters with the power of a Saint rank due to the effect of the Bloodfang Scythe. Carnage followed in his wake.

Hours blended into more hours. Canna's body moved on pure instinct, his mind consumed by the rhythm of battle. He didn't feel fatigue; he didn't register the passage of time. He only knew the endless killing.

Until suddenly, it stopped.

Canna's scythe cut through another beast, and for a moment, he was ready to turn and face the next one—but there was none. Silence fell across the battlefield. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he scanned the area. What he saw took his breath away. Mountains of corpses. The bodies of slain monsters piled up so high, they formed peaks that towered over the battlefield.

For the first time in days, the sanctuary warriors cheered. Victory was finally within their grasp. The formation was quickly reinforced, and the dwarves and researchers moved in to start building the base. The relief was palpable.

But that peace was short-lived.

A sound cut through the air, sharp and terrifying—a screech so loud and powerful, it seemed to shake the ground itself. The cheers died down immediately, replaced by a heavy, ominous silence.

Canna turned his head toward the source of the noise. His heart skipped a beat as he saw them. Two massive figures emerging from the distant horizon. Catastrophe-class monsters.

One was a colossal creature, resembling a towering behemoth made of rock and flame. Its skin glowed with molten cracks, and every step it took left burning craters in the ground. This was no ordinary monster. Its very presence exuded the power of a demigod, its eyes glowing with a hunger that could never be sated.

The second was even more terrifying. A massive serpentine creature with scales as black as the void. Its body slithered across the battlefield with impossible speed, its maw large enough to swallow an entire squad of warriors whole. Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto the mountains of corpses with a ravenous glint.

These two creatures were not ordinary monsters—they were Catastrophe-class, beings capable of leveling entire cities if left unchecked. Their power was unimaginable, and their hunger insatiable.

Canna's heart pounded in his chest as he gazed upon them. This was beyond anything they had faced so far. The guardians, the warriors, even the shock troops who had fought so valiantly—all their previous battles had been but a prelude to this.

Vorgrim stood frozen for a moment, his gaze locked on the two approaching creatures. He knew exactly what they were up against. The sheer power radiating from these beasts was enough to make even the most battle-hardened warriors feel a sliver of fear.

"They're Catastrophe-class..." Vorgrim muttered under his breath. "This is... far worse than I expected."

The guardians quickly gathered around Canna, their faces set with grim determination. They had already endured so much, but now they were facing the greatest challenge of all. These creatures were on a completely different level from anything they had fought before.

Canna gripped the Bloodfang Scythe tightly, feeling its power coursing through him. His body was battered, his mind weary, but there was no turning back now. This fight would decide everything. The creation of the sanctuary's base depended on this battle.
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"Guardians," Canna said, his voice steady despite the weight of the situation. "We hold the line. No matter what happens, we can't let them through."

The guardians nodded, each preparing for the upcoming clash. This was it. The final stand. The battle that would test the limits of their strength, their endurance, and their resolve.

The Catastrophe-class monsters roared as they closed in on the battlefield, their massive forms casting long shadows over the warriors below.

The fight for survival had only just begun.