The First Servant Falls
The air was thick with ash and blood. The earth itself groaned beneath the endless weight of war. As the winds screamed over the Deathfront, the battlefield became a graveyard for the brave. Pulse cannons overheated. Blades dulled. Screams faded into silence. But still, the soldiers of T.E.R.O.S.A fought.
Elian was a blur in the chaos—darting, leaping, cutting through Ancient after Ancient. His armor was dented, his body bleeding, but his eyes burned with unrelenting fire. Each time the pulse inside him stirred, he tamed it—barely. His sister's face haunted him, a reminder of what could happen if he lost control again.
Beside him, Kael laughed like a madman, slicing through beasts with reckless joy. "You seeing this, Elian?! This is the good stuff!"
Lyra didn't answer—her focus was razor-sharp, her movements like clockwork. Her blade danced with surgical precision, severing tendons, eyes, and necks in perfect harmony. "Form up. We're being herded."
She was right.
The Ancients weren't attacking blindly anymore. They were shifting, surrounding, forcing the squad toward the black spire jutting from the earth like a fang—where the First Servant waited.
Elian's pulse flared.
A tremor shook the battlefield as a figure stepped forward. One of Xerath's ten.
The First Servant.
He was tall, wrapped in obsidian armor etched with pulsating crimson veins. His face was obscured by a mask shaped like a beast's jaw, eyes glowing with ancient malice. He moved like a phantom, vanishing from one place and appearing in another, dragging a massive blade behind him—one forged from the bone of a fallen Guardian.
"Run," someone muttered.
"No," Elian growled, stepping forward.
The First Servant charged—his speed impossible for his size. Elian barely raised his blade in time. The force of the impact sent him skidding backward, heels digging trenches in the soil.
Kael lunged in next, only for the Servant to vanish and reappear behind him, slashing across his back. Lyra caught him before he fell.
The rest of the squad fanned out, pulse cannons lighting up the dusk.
The First Servant walked through the blasts like mist.
One soldier screamed as he was torn in half. Another lost her arm.
They weren't going to win. Not like this.
"Elian!" Lyra shouted. "Transform!"
"I—can't. Not yet."
"You have to!"
Elian's breath caught. The fire in his chest surged, spiraling through his limbs like molten steel.
He closed his eyes—and let go.
The transformation was violent. His body tore, reformed, bones cracking, skin erupting into blackened armored plates. His eyes blazed blue. The roar that ripped from his throat silenced even the Ancients.
He launched himself at the First Servant.
Their clash shook the land.
Blades met. Fists collided. Shockwaves exploded with each blow. But this time, Elian was not alone. Kael, wounded, still charged back in. Lyra, grim but unyielding, struck at the openings Elian made. The rest of T.E.R.O.S.A rallied, pulse rounds hammering the Servant's back.
And finally—Elian landed a blow.
His clawed fist pierced the Servant's mask. Shattered it. Drove through the creature's face.
The First Servant screamed as his body convulsed, burning from the inside out. Ancient energy leaked from his bones, rupturing like steam from a broken pipe.
And then—he collapsed.
Dead.
Silence fell.
The battlefield paused. Even Xerath, far on the ridge, tilted his head in amusement.
"One down," he whispered. "Let's see what they do with nine."
Elian stood panting, trembling in his monstrous form, soaked in gore. But he had done it. The First Servant was dead.
Lyra walked up, placing a hand on his clawed arm.
"You're more than a monster," she said. "You're our weapon now."
And above them, the clouds swirled with a new storm.
Because war had only just begun.
Elian threw the dead first member at one of the extremly injured soldiers, the soldier new what to do but hesitated. Elians in his ancient form glares at the soldier, the soldier then reluctantly ate pieces of the first member's body. He then shook and convulsed violently as he transformed.