Seraphina paced the opulent war room, her sharp features lit by the flickering magi tech lanterns that threw knife like shadows across the walls. Today, she was not merely the Emperor's overseer. She was Radames Antoun's proxy in a mission that would test her worth. The world would believe they were negotiating peace with the Slaechulan Kingdom.
She adjusted the collar of her new black military style coat, trimmed in gold and lined with crimson. The structured lapels and central buckle accentuated her powerful presence, while the short skirt and thigh high boots gave her an air of unquestionable authority. She had always enjoyed dressing professionally, and this was no exception.
Heimer stood beside her, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room with a seriousness that suggested he was already bracing for the worst. Tall and broad shouldered, his pristine white and gold armor marked him as one of the Emperor's elite royal guards. The scar running from his brow to his cheek was a stark contrast to the polished plate, a silent testament to real combat. Across his back, the holy blade Rentern rested in a sheathed clasp adorned with delicate, reverent carvings, its subtle glow a quiet promise of its power.
He rarely spoke outside of orders, but today, the weight of what lay ahead was a palpable force in the room.
"Are you ready for this?" Seraphina asked, her respect for him evident in her tone.
"Does not matter if we are ready," he said, his voice flat. "We will head out either way."
Together, they made their way to the courtyard where a traditional carriage awaited, a necessary choice to convey an image of vulnerability. As they entered, Heimer positioned himself at the door, his gaze surveying the terrain before them.
This mission was her trial by fire. Her chance to prove she was more than a mouthpiece for Radames. More than a tolerated anomaly. If she failed, it would not just disappoint the Emperor. It would signal to the Slaechulan Kingdom that their trap had worked.
But deeper than duty or pride was the fear she never voiced. She could not lose the life he had given her. The Empire was the only place that had not flinched at what she was.
They think they can bait us, she mused grimly. But I will show them the folly of underestimating the envoy sent by the great Emperor Radames.
She had known this was not a real peace talk.
The Slaechulan King had declared war on the Empire just days ago, then turned around and invited them to the table. A poor attempt at deception. Young, overeager, and already bleeding power, the boy king wanted a quick win.
They had gotten a tip, vague but worrying. The cult's leader, the Herald, had promised the king a powerful ally. A "servant." Nothing more. Just a whisper passed down the wrong chain of ears. Enough to make the Emperor wary. Enough to make him interested.
The carriage rolled smoothly through the rugged, wild plains of the Slaechulan Kingdom. Each turn of the wheels reminded her of the precarious nature of their journey.
"Keep your wits about you, Heimer," she instructed, her voice firm. "The Slaechulan have been known to twist words and knives with equal skill."
Heimer nodded, his attention unwavering. "We need to be alert. I have heard tales of their warriors. They are not to be taken lightly."
As they arrived in a modest, suspiciously quiet town, Seraphina felt the tension seep into her bones. The street was lined with tightly clustered wooden houses, and wary faces peeked through shuttered windows.
She stepped from the carriage with confidence, Heimer at her side. Their escort of elite guards took positions around them, magi guns holstered but ready.
It was not long before the Slaechulan elite revealed themselves, stepping from the shadows in dark robes with glimmering gold linings. Beastkin with furred ears moved with predatory grace. Draconians with scaled skin glared with cold discipline. Harpies perched atop rooftops, feathers ruffling in the wind. Their wide brimmed, pointed straw hats and fluttering ribbons only partly concealed their nonhuman features.
A figure strode out from among them, robes rustling. Tall and broad shouldered, he wore a half mask of lacquered red wood shaped like a snarling wolf. Golden tattoos glowed faintly on the exposed skin of his right arm. His voice was smooth and saccharine.
"Lady Seraphina of Dalthun," he said with a theatrical bow. "I am Commander Raikatsu, voice of the Slaechulan King and master of the Fang Tide Legion." His amber eyes gleamed with cunning amusement. "You honor us with your presence."
She did not return the gesture. "We come under flag of peace."
"Of course," Raikatsu said, his smile growing as he stepped closer. "We would never dare tarnish such delicate arrangements. Our king only seeks clarity and cooperation. An end to needless bloodshed."
She tilted her head ever so slightly. "You speak as if your kingdom did not strike first."
"Regrettable. Very regrettable. But understandable," he said, his voice turning low and honeyed. "Your Emperor is known for swallowing lands the way fire swallows dry grass. We merely acted preemptively."
He took another step forward.
Heimer shifted, the sound of metal plates rasping, but Seraphina lifted a finger in silent command. Raikatsu stopped two paces from her.
"And yet you accepted a peace talk. Why?" she asked.
Raikatsu's grin widened. "To offer you a final choice. Kneel, and let us build a new order. One where your Emperor need not exist."
A pause.
Then his hand moved with practiced grace. A flick of the wrist, a hidden blade sliding from his sleeve toward her throat.
Heimer moved. Silver flashed like lightning.
Raikatsu's body was still reaching for her when his head fell from his shoulders, landing with a wet thump against the stone.
His corpse followed half a second later, knees buckling before it collapsed into a twitching heap. Blood fanned outward across the stones like a grim, blooming flower.
The Slaechulan soldiers stiffened, but none dared move. Not with Heimer's sword still humming from the swing, his eyes already locked on the next closest threat.
Seraphina had not flinched. She merely sighed and brushed a single drop of blood from her cheek. "I expected as much," she said, her voice cold.
Heimer cleaned his blade in one practiced motion. "Was not going to let him finish his sentence."
"Good," she said. "I was already bored."
That was the moment chaos chose to erupt.
The air tore open with the shriek of steel and the crackle of magi-fire. There was no turning back now.
"Defensive positions!" Seraphina shouted, her command slicing through the sudden din. The initial wave of Slaechulan fighters surged forward, their swords meeting the polished steel of Dalthun blades in a deafening clash.
Heimer moved without a word, a pillar of calm in the storm. He drew Rentern in one smooth, silent motion, the blade flashing as it met the first enemy strike. Just the sight of him standing firm was enough to rally the soldiers around him.
"Status!" Seraphina demanded, holding her ground amidst the turmoil.
"Viridian formation!" Heimer yelled back, his voice cutting cleanly through the fray. "Mages to the rear!" He fought with the grim efficiency of a veteran, every parry and counter blow a testament to a life spent on battlefields.
The Slaechulan warriors were a coordinated whirlwind of fangs and fury. Beastkin darted through the melee with feline agility. Draconians unleashed gouts of elemental breath that scorched the air. Harpies swooped from above, javelins streaking down from the sky.
A dedicated squad of harpies dove at the Dalthun lines, their wings beating furiously. Dalthun mages responded with precise arcs of lightning and concussive bursts of wind, blasting the winged attackers from the sky. Feathers and bodies rained down, making the air above as deadly as the ground below.
But Seraphina saw the truth taking shape. They were being pressed. She watched a ripple of fear go through her ranks as the Dalthun line wavered. The ground was already littered with the fallen: beastkin with blood-matted fur, draconians with scales scorched and cracked, harpies with wings torn and broken. The variety of the Slaechulan dead was a grim reminder of the diverse army they faced.
Then, something terrible emerged from behind a half-collapsed inn.
It was a gaunt, gray-skinned figure, dragging a mangled corpse behind it. In its hands, it wielded a jagged bone-scythe, the blade stained dark with old blood. The creature's eyes burned with a wild hunger, its mouth smeared red as it tore into flesh with wet, snapping sounds that echoed off the stone walls.
A sudden hush fell over that part of the battlefield.
Heimer's jaw tightened. He fixed the newcomer with a cold, unwavering stare, shifting his stance to place his own body between the threat and his allies. He said nothing, but his grip on Rentern turned white-knuckled, every muscle coiling for violence.
Seraphina's gaze sharpened, her posture unyielding. She studied the figure with clinical precision, her mind racing through tactical options. "That is Hunger," she said, her voice low and steady, meant for Heimer alone. "I saw him during the village massacre last year. He will not stop unless we make him."
Her tone was crisp and decisive. "Heimer, keep him away from our lines. We hold position. No one breaks formation."
"On my mark, we engage," Heimer ordered, his jaw set. "I will clear a path. We cannot let him reach our men."
As the abomination advanced, Seraphina raised her magi-gun with practiced calm. "Open fire! All fire on that target! Do not let it close!"
Their guards moved in a sudden flurry, setting up firing lines and aiming their weapons at the new horror. The air grew thick with tension as their plan settled into place.
They moved as one unit, a coordinated effort from the Dalthun forces, but Hunger continued his relentless advance, devouring any soldier, Slaechulan or Dalthun, who dared enter his path.
Seraphina's voice cut through the chaos, unwavering. "Hunger! You end here!"
But the onslaught seemed to invigorate him. He howled in glee, drawing a sick energy from the chaos around him.
"Why are you attacking our soldiers?" a Slaechulan commander shouted, his face a mask of disbelief. "We thought you were here to help us!"
Hunger paused, his blood-stained mouth twisting into a grotesque smile. "I changed my mind," he rasped. "A buffet is much better than a meager dinner."
In a flash, he lunged. His jaws snapped shut around the commander's neck, silencing him instantly. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones as the commander crumpled.
Panic, sharp and immediate, swept through the Slaechulan ranks. Soldiers faltered, unsure whether to fight the Dalthun forces or the maniacal creature now consuming their comrades.
With a terrible shriek, Hunger swung his bone-scythe in a wide arc, cutting down two more Slaechulan soldiers. As their bodies hit the ground, a sickening energy pulsed from him. The corpses began to twitch and jerk, rising unsteadily to their feet; eyes vacant, limbs stiff, answering his silent call.
A wave of pure horror washed over both armies as the dead began to move.
Heimer's eyes narrowed to slits, his expression hard as stone. He did not flinch or speak. He simply shifted his stance, blade raised, his gaze locked on the advancing dead. His presence alone was a command, and his men rallied behind him, forming a solid shield wall at his back.
Seeing the moment, Seraphina stepped forward. Her posture was commanding, her voice ringing out over the chaos, not to her own troops, but to the enemy. "Slaechulan warriors!" she called, her tone sharp and authoritative. "This creature is no ally to any nation. If you value your lives, join us, just for this moment! We can drive him back together. Lay down your quarrel, and fight the true threat!"
For a single, suspended heartbeat, the battlefield seemed to pause. Some beastkin hesitated, ears flicking uncertainly. A harpy hovered midair, glancing between the undead and the Dalthun lines. A draconian's grip tightened on his halberd. Uncertainty flickered in their eyes as the shambling corpses drew closer.
But then a grizzled draconian captain spat on the ground, his scales glinting. "We need no help from imperial dogs!" he roared, rallying the men around him. "Better to die than stand with you!"
Others echoed his defiance, their old hatreds outweighing the terror before them. Swords, claws, and spells turned once more toward the Dalthun forces. The fragile moment of possible unity shattered, replaced by the familiar bitterness of war.
Seraphina's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing in cold calculation. So be it, she thought. Let them reap what they sow.
As the last civilians fled the burning town, the battlefield fractured into two fronts. The town was not massive, but large enough to force their forces to split.
The eastern corridor, a half collapsed avenue littered with corpses, was where Hunger had made his lair. That was where Heimer moved, his steps deliberate, his holy blade Rentern gleaming as it drew power from his core. Behind him, a cadre of Dalthun swordsmen fanned out to intercept the reanimated dead.
The western flank was a different beast. Slaechulan soldiers, still alive and enraged, charged with cold discipline, their golden robes singed from spellfire. Seraphina, flanked by magi gunners and elementalists, took point.
"Split and subdue!" she commanded. "My unit will hold the living. Heimer, cleanse that thing before it unbinds the veil!"
Heimer gave a short nod. His voice rang clear above the cacophony. "Form shield crescent. Purge advance in two steps!"
The soldiers obeyed instantly, creating a tight half moon of steel. In its heart, Heimer plunged Rentern into the ground. The blade hummed, holy glyphs spiraling up its edge. A faint golden corona radiated from his shoulders as he drew his hands together, his breath slowing. Mana surged inward, coalescing into light. Rentern's glyphs burned with pale fire like molten moonlight carved into steel. The charging process left him exposed, but the soldiers around him fought like a divine wall, their blades moving in precise arcs to hold back the tide of clawing dead.
Hunger paused in his carnage. The pulsing glyphs on his body flared and twisted violently, as if resisting the light.
Then Heimer's voice thundered across the field. "By Luma's will, be cleansed! Purification Strike!"
A radiant shockwave erupted outward, engulfing a thirty meter radius. The ground shimmered as divine fire poured from Rentern like a tidal wave of light. The undead shrieked, their twisted forms cracking, withering, and turning to ash. Even the sky seemed to recoil. For a moment, the only sound was the distant rumble of collapsing bones.
When the light faded, a great ring of scorched earth surrounded Heimer, void of corruption and cleared of undead. He wavered slightly, catching himself on his sword. The spell had taken its toll, but he remained standing, glowing faintly with residual grace.
Though seared and scorched, Hunger's smile grew wider. "I felt that," he rasped with eerie delight. "But it only makes the game more interesting."
He lunged again, but Heimer was ready. Now reinforced, his swordsmen surged forward to meet Hunger with renewed strength. Though no longer surrounded by undead, the creature was still a force of unnatural speed and hunger.
He began dodging and parrying with increasing cunning, no longer charging blindly but choosing his moments with calculated intent. Every blow he parried was followed by a bite or a claw. Still, Heimer and his team held the line.
On the western front, Seraphina's forces unleashed elemental havoc. Firebolts licked across enemy shields while earth spikes shot from beneath the feet of the Slaechulan elites. Seraphina moved like a war conductor, flawless and ferocious, her instincts honed to a razor's edge.
At her signal, a phalanx of gunners fired a synchronized volley. Six magi rounds exploded into the opposing ranks. The Slaechulan commander tried to counter with a wave rune, but Seraphina was faster. She dashed forward and unleashed a focused burst of fire directly into his open flank. The commander fell, smoldering.
Another soldier screamed and lunged at her. She sidestepped, grabbed his wrist mid swing, and twisted, firing a bullet of concentrated fire point blank into his ribs. His body dropped, limp and charred.
Above, a squadron of harpies took flight, wings beating furiously as they tried to flank the Dalthun lines. Dalthun mages responded with precise arcs of lightning and bursts of wind, striking harpies from the sky. Feathers and bodies tumbled to the cobblestones, the air thick with ozone and char.
"Push through!" she called, eyes blazing. "We split them here and now!"
Mages reinforced her position with crystallized barriers, turning the street into a death funnel. Gunners fired overhead while elementalists rained acid and flame from balconies. The Slaechulans faltered, not from lack of skill, but from the sheer precision and fury of Seraphina's command.
Back at the eastern flank, Hunger roared, blood dripping from his jaws. Heimer stood tall, breathing heavily.
"You are just another thing crawling out of the dark," Heimer said, his voice firm. "And I am here to put you down."
Rentern flashed again as Heimer raised it, bracing for another charge. He met Hunger head on, driving forward with relentless precision. Blood streaked his armor, none of it his own. Rentern clashed against elongated bone claws, the impact ringing through the square. Hunger's grin widened into a jagged maw, slick with gore.
"You are a fun one," the creature rasped, its voice like torn cloth. "Let us see what breaks first. Your blade, or your body."
Heimer did not answer. He struck again, faster and harder.
A blur at his flank caught his eye. "Watch out!"
It was Halden. A young knight, barely old enough to shave, still glowing with the pride of freshly earned armor. He should not have been here, but he had begged for the honor of standing with Heimer. He was brave, stupidly brave.
He intercepted Hunger's next lunge, and for one moment, it worked. The tip of his longspear punched into the monster's ribs.
However, Hunger did not flinch. With a snarl, the creature grabbed Halden by the leg and ripped. Bone cracked like twigs. The scream that followed would haunt every man on that flank for weeks.
Hunger ate the severed limb in front of them, chewing thoughtfully as Halden was dragged away by his comrades, sobbing, his face white as ash.
"You," Heimer growled, stepping forward. "You will regret that, beast."
He surged forward. Rentern carved through Hunger's defenses, the blade glowing with radiant light. Each strike was precise, blessed, and devastating.
Heimer ducked a claw, jammed a dagger between Hunger's ribs with his off hand, then drove his knee into the creature's chest. Hunger reeled.
With one clean motion, Heimer swept its legs out, slammed it to the ground, and drove Rentern into its shoulder, pinning it to the stone. The abomination howled and thrashed, until Heimer seized a fallen spear and plunged it through the other arm. It writhed and bled black sludge, but it was pinned.
He stood over it, sword raised.
"Wait."
Seraphina's voice rang out through the haze of battle. Heimer glanced over his shoulder. She stood amidst the debris, composed but tense, one hand still bleeding from the earlier clash.
"Heimer, it is over," she said. "It is contained."
"It is not over until it is dead," he said flatly.
"We need to consult the Emperor. We have already captured one of their elites, Love. If we can do the same here."
He did not answer. He just drove his blade through Hunger's throat. The creature gurgled, clawing at the steel buried in its neck. Then Heimer drove his sword through its skull, cold and final.
Silence fell like a dropped veil.
He turned to her. His voice was low and unwavering. "I will not allow something like that to be brought into the heart of the capital. Not again. If that disappoints you, then punish me. Strip my rank. I accept it."
Seraphina's mouth opened, then closed.
"I would rather fall than serve the Empire poorly," he added, quieter. "You would not be of use to him if you let that thing live."
Her fingers twitched. For a breathless moment, she said nothing. She just stared at the steaming corpse and the blood seeping between the stones.
Radames had saved her from a forgotten province. He had given her a purpose, a place at his side, something no one else had. The thought of being useless to him dug deeper than any blade. And Heimer had just implied that she was failing.
But she did not shout. She did not scold.
"I will consider your punishment once we return," she said, her voice calm and sharp as drawn steel.
A soldier ran up, his armor scorched and helmet dented. "Commander! We have swept the area. Most Slaechulan forces are dead or fled. There are scattered groups trying to escape through the valley trails. Should we pursue?"
Heimer glanced at her.
"Permission to lead the hunt," he said. "I can make sure none return. Except one, if you want a messenger to spread the word of our victory."
Seraphina hesitated. Then she remembered Radames' voice. Sometimes, kindness is betrayal. Mercy is a luxury. Ruthlessness is wisdom, when it protects the Empire.
"Grant him quarter," she ordered. "One. The rest, hunt them down."
Heimer nodded. "Understood."
As he moved to depart, she spoke again, her voice lower this time. "Your judgment is harsh. But your sword... I cannot argue with the results."
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And your command held the line better than anyone else could have. I will admit that much."
She did not respond right away. Her eyes fell upon the bloodied knight being carried on a stretcher, Halden sobbing through clenched teeth. Nearby, a pair of Dalthun soldiers helped a wounded beastkin, one of the few Slaechulans who had surrendered.
The battlefield was a ruin of mingled bodies, human and demi human alike, all stained with blood and ash. The cost of the day's violence was laid bare, a tapestry of fur, scales, and feathers extinguished.
Seraphina stood in the middle of the wreckage, her fists clenched. She counted the bodies, her own people, not just the enemy. There were way too many. This was supposed to be a win, but it felt like a disaster. She had expected a fight, maybe even a dirty trick, but not this. Not so many lost on her watch.
She kept her face calm for the others, but inside, it stung. She had wanted to prove herself, to show Radames she could handle anything. Instead, all she could see were the faces she would have to account for. Even with the enemy beaten, it did not feel like victory. Not today.
"Let us make sure he lives," she said, her gaze fixed on Halden. "He is too brave to die this young."
And as Heimer disappeared into the smoke, she added to herself, her thought a quiet echo in the settling dust. Too brave. Just like I once was.