The undead shield wall buckles, then bursts apart in a hail of bone and frost. Armored legionaries pour through the breach, steel flashing toward the eggs.

Erma holds the line at the chamber mouth, void-black scales drinking the light. Black frost crawls over his foreclaws as he braces against the rush.

The legion's commander steps into the breach, framed by falling ash and broken stone. Behind the front ranks, fresh drill-bearers crowd the tunnel, closing on the sanctuary.

The chamber tightens around that fact. The fight is no longer about holding one doorway, it is about breaking the legion's way in before they carve a route to Erma's hatchlings.

Erma drops the ward. The mist snaps inward, and his body surges outward with it, swelling into a vast black-green dragon that fills the chamber mouth.

Black frost crawls off his foreclaws as he drives forward, the new bulk shouldering through the first rank of legionaries and scattering them across the stone.

The broken route to the clutch is now split by Erma's bulk, the commander cut off from the rear crews as claws and steel crash uselessly against him.

Erma beats his wings once, and the chamber answers with a hard, rushing gale. Dust, grit, and loose ash scour the legion line, driving helmets down and banners sideways.

The front rank stumbles as the wind catches shields at the wrong angle. Two drill-crews lose their footing and slam into the stone, their formation breaking apart under the blast.

Erma keeps the wind driving, and the black frost on his claws flickers as the gust hurls loose spears and sand into the legion's eyes.

The commander is shoved a full step back from the breach, his blades lowered against the pressure. Behind him, the drill-crews reel, their path to the clutch suddenly choked with bodies and flying dust.

For one brittle moment, the legion's advance stalls, and only the shimmering eggs and the carved law in stone remain untouched at the chamber's heart.

Erma swells wider, scales lifting like a stormfront over his ribs. His wings rise higher, their span swallowing the chamber’s light as the black frost creeps along the claws and then fractures into glittering dust.

The air lurches hard. A second torrent tears through the breach, thicker and meaner than before, blasting dust into a wall that slams the legion back on its heels.

Behind the commander, the scattered drill-crews skid and clutch at the stone. Their banners whip flat. The path to the clutch vanishes under the gale.

At the chamber’s heart, the eggs shimmer brighter inside the carved law, while the ward’s green-white flare trembles once and holds.

The commander digs in, but the wind shoves his blade arm wide and leaves the legion fighting the storm instead of the nest.