Benjamin led his army onward, passing one Bat People city after another.
The cities varied in size. The smallest held only tens of thousands of inhabitants, while the largest filled entire valleys.
The Bat People built with biological materials. Shell-covered structures crowded together like giant termite mounds spread across the wasteland. But regardless of size, every city attacked without hesitation the moment it saw Benjamin's army.
Bat People poured from every corner of each city, charging to their deaths in wave after wave.
Standing at the center of his army, Benjamin watched them surge forward like a black tsunami, only to fall in swathes beneath the Black Giants' fists and the Dragonblood Mushroom People's breath.
Their deaths meant nothing, yet they showed no sign of stopping.
As one wave fell, the next trampled over its corpses and kept charging.
Their utter lack of fear confirmed something for Benjamin: all the Bat People in this world were probably under the Spirit Race's control. Biological tentacles had long since devoured their minds. What remained inside those bodies was merely an extension of the Spirit Race's will.
"Advance faster. There's no need to get tangled up with these puppets," Benjamin ordered.
The army's marching speed surged.
The Black Giants stopped clearing the strongholds along their route and began breaking straight through.
But even without deliberately attacking, the elemental turbulence the army stirred up simply by passing was enough to flatten the cities along its path in moments.
Bat People corpses piled into mountains. Dark red blood flowed across the gray-brown ground, gathering into winding streams. A few days later, Benjamin's army reached the outskirts of the Holy City.
A massive fortress stood ahead.
It rose from the center of a broad plain, its walls soaring into the clouds, built from layer upon layer