The towering mesa of red sandstone loomed over the dunes, casting a massive shadow across the approaching Vanguard.

Roal and his brother halted at the crest of the ridge. The two desert guides pulled their linen cloaks tighter against the blowing sand. Roal pointed toward a massive natural archway carved directly into the rock face.

"That is the primary entrance," Roal reported. "The Aethelgard garrison hollowed out the entire mountain. They store millions of gallons of purified water inside those walls to supply their mobile fortresses."

Iron-Scale surveyed the natural fortress. He rested his hand on the hilt of his star-iron dagger.

’We need a containment,’ Iron-Scale calculated, tracking the sightlines of the enemy guard towers. ’If a single runner escapes, Voranthar learns our exact marching pattern.’

He turned to the massive allied column waiting behind him. The Vanguard had grown into a diverse coalition of apex predators. He needed specialized units to seal the mountain.

"Torix," Iron-Scale called out.

A towering, six-eyed Arachne commander stepped forward from the vassal ranks. His lower half consisted of a massive, black-chitin spider body, while his humanoid torso held four muscular arms gripping barbed spears. He commanded a legion of fifty thousand Deep-Weave Hunters.

"Take your weavers to the roof," Iron-Scale instructed. "Seal the upper ventilation shafts with steel-silk. Nobody flies out."

Torix clattered his mandibles in acknowledgment. He immediately scrambled up the sheer cliff face with terrifying speed. Thousands of his spider-kin followed, scaling the vertical rock to trap the roof.

Sir Garen, the second sword of the Second Continent forces, rode to the front of the formation on his barded warhorse. His silver armor gleamed under the desert sun.

"My Kingdom Knights will form a perimeter around the base," Garen stated, drawing his broadsword. "We will trample anyone who manages to slip through the cracks."

"Do it," Iron-Scale agreed. He looked at the earth-weaver standing beside him. "Lock the doors, Gulag."

Gulag cracked her knuckles and stepped to the front of the ridge. She plunged both hands deep into the sand. Her amber core flared brightly within her chest. She commanded the deep bedrock to rise.

Massive slabs of solid stone erupted from the desert floor directly in front of the mesa’s secondary exits. The rock violently fused with the mountain, permanently sealing the side doors and trapping the Aethelgard garrison entirely inside.

"The box is closed," Krax grinned, exposing his prominent fangs. He hoisted his greataxe over his shoulder. "Time to clean the inside."

Krax launched himself down the dune. The fifty thousand Blood-Mane warriors charged behind him, their battle roars echoing across the Sea of Glass.

The Aethelgard sentries on the outer walls scrambled to aim their arcane cannons. Before they could fire a single volley, a localized hurricane slammed into the barricades. Iron-Scale unleashed his emerald wind, tearing the sentries from the walls and shattering the defensive emplacements.

Krax reached the main archway. He swung his greataxe in a brutal horizontal arc. The impact pulverized the reinforced iron gates, blowing the massive doors completely off their hinges.

The Vanguard flooded the interior of the supply hub.

The hollow mesa was a cavernous marvel of engineering, filled with towering iron vats and miles of elevated walkways. Aethelgard infantry formed desperate shield walls in the central plaza. Royal mages chanted rapidly to summon defensive light barriers.

Syra utilized the flickering torchlight to her absolute advantage. She dissolved into a dark puddle, traveling swiftly across the cavern floor. She materialized directly behind the frontline mages and drove her condensed shadow blade through their spines. The magical barriers collapsed instantly.

Torix and his Deep-Weave Hunters dropped from the cavern ceiling. They unleashed nets of hyper-tensile silk, trapping entire platoons of enemy soldiers against the iron water vats. The Blood-Mane warriors crashed into the broken shield walls, completely overrunning the garrison with overwhelming physical force.

The slaughter ended in less than ten minutes.

Iron-Scale walked through the blood-slicked plaza. He stepped over the fallen bodies of the Fourth Continent soldiers and approached the central control terminal managing the massive water vats. He drove his star-iron dagger directly into the center of the command console.

Up in the orbital sanctuary, Red watched the planetary sensory grid update. A massive radius of the Third Continent’s map shifted from the grey fog of war to a brilliant, pulsing crimson.

[ System Notification: Primary Supply Hub captured. ]

[ System Notification: Spiral Domain expanded. Allied units within the sector gain 10% resistance to elemental damage. 10% more productivity. 10% more base stats. ]

Red leaned his chin against his knuckles. He watched his commanders secure the perimeter through the live feed.

’We took their water,’ Red thought, a cold smile forming on his face. ’Let the mobile fortresses die of thirst in the dunes. Voranthar will have to come to us now.’

Syra materialized from the shadow cast by a towering vat. She dragged the tip of her dagger along the iron surface.

’Voranthar relies entirely on this hub to keep his desert fortresses moving,’ Syra calculated. Her silver scales caught the ambient light. ’We cut the supply line, but a direct siege across the dunes wastes time and energy. Let the enemy kill themselves.’

"Iron-Scale," Syra called out, walking toward the center of the cavern. "We keep the main vats for our troops. Divert twenty thousand gallons into the wooden barrels on the eastern loading ramp. Call the alchemists."

Iron-Scale understood the strategy instantly, and sent someone outside.

A moment later, Sludge and Bog-Rot waddled into the cavern. The two Mud-Skipper commanders left a trail of bubbling slime on the stone floor as they approached the vats.

"Lace the eastern barrels," Syra instructed. "Make it completely untraceable."

Sludge clapped his webbed hands together. Bog-Rot climbed up the side of a transport barrel. The Mud-Skipper opened his wide mouth and regurgitated a stream of clear liquid directly into the supply. The fluid dissolved instantly into the pristine water.

"A delayed rot," Bog-Rot rasped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Requires exactly two days to paralyze the lungs. Tastes entirely like spring water."

Syra pointed her dagger toward the cavern exit. "Pull the guards back from the eastern ramp. Leave the outer gates wide open. Make it look like a logistical oversight."

Torix clattered his mandibles and commanded his weavers to retreat into the shadows of the ceiling. Sir Garen pulled his Kingdom Knights away from the eastern perimeter, leaving the loading area completely exposed to the desert.