Kaisarius had managed to raise an army powerful enough to seize the city.
The moment the Runestone was placed upon the Altar of the Church of Hope, the invisible barrier that had protected the capital for generations shattered like fragile glass.
The city was unprepared for such a sudden collapse. No one had expected the Runestone to work, no one had believed the barrier could fall. But it did. And in that brief moment of disbelief and chaos, Kaisarius's army stormed the front gates, slaughtered the guards, and claimed the city.
Alekar had tried to rally the noble houses, but there was no time. The invasion was swift, merciless, and complete.
Yet despite the overwhelming success, not everything was going according to Kaisarius's plan.
The barrier, the true shield of Astarax's capital, was gone. And with its destruction, so too was the sense of invincibility the city once carried. The front gates had been decimated during the invasion, and without the protective dome, the city was left vulnerable to retaliation.
The reconstruction was immediate. Awakeneds with utility-type Aspects worked tirelessly, reforging gates, raising walls, and weaving reinforcement runes through every layer of stone. In terms of structure, the city was recovering fast.
But Kaisarius couldn't shake the pressure gnawing at the back of his mind.
Not to mention, his generals weren't even here.
Nika wasn't at his side to tend to the wounded. Gray wasn't present to command the legions. Liparik, the sharpshooter and strategist, wasn't here to command bowman. And his little thief whose bizarre, ridiculous plans somehow always worked had been dispatched to Nepo to secure the support of Lord Fronti and his fleet with others as well.
Worse still, Bernak was gone too, sent to the wild west, where the most powerful of all Horsemen held sway. His mission was to win their allegiance.
So for now, Kaisarius stood with barely four thousand soldiers at his command, holding a city recently taken from an enemy that still had twenty thousand strong breathing down his neck.
Could he have waited? Perhaps. Could he have mustered a larger force before making his move? Definitely. But by then, word of the Runestone and rebellion would have spread, and the element of surprise which was his only true advantage would have slipped through his fingers. And Alerak… Alerak would never have allowed it.
Now that the city had fallen, all of Alerak's attention would turn to him and not to his scattered allies who were still raising their banners in the shadows.
In other words, Kaisarius had made himself the scapegoat.
He had stepped willingly into the noose, buying time with his own life if necessary to give his people a chance, to raise the odds in their favor, and to guarantee their safety, no matter the cost.
His warriors were visibly afraid. He glanced at them and sighed, noticing how some trembled where they stood.
Who could blame them?
He ran his fingers along the cold stone of the wall as he gazed out at the approaching army that was singing with malice, marching with ferocity, hell-bent on reclaiming the city.
Damned Usurpers.
He stood tall atop the great wall, his piercing eyes locking onto a pale, goliath of a man riding a massive white hound. The beast snarled beneath him. The man's arm bore a blade grafted into the flesh, and he was clad in grim gray armor, his face hidden beneath a fearsome helm.
Then Kaisarius turned his eyes back to his trembling soldiers.
Without a hint of fear, he raised his arms wide, the mighty white sword in his hand glowing with a pale, golden light that cut through the mist like a holy flame.
His voice rang out across the walls, ferocious and commanding:
"Dürak Märaguń!"
The trembling warriors looked up to their king, standing tall as a mountain, unshaken and fearless before the approaching storm.
At first, no one spoke.
Then, one soldier clenched his fist around his spear and roared:
"HA-OOH!"
Then, as if bravery were a virus, that single act of courage sparked a fire. One soldier's cry lit a flame in the hearts of the fearful, and suddenly valor bloomed like wildfire across the wall.
"HA-OOH!"
"HA-OOH!"
"HA-OOH!"
What was once silence filled with dread was now a thunderous roar of defiance, echoing across the battlefield. Fear gave way to fire. Despair gave way to resolve.
The battle had begun.
Legions of enemy warriors stormed toward the towering walls of the capital, a wave of steel and fury crashing against the horizon.
Atop the battlements, Kaisarius's bowmen drew their bows in unison, the strings taut, breaths held. They stood still, silent and focused. Waiting for a signal.
Then Kaisarius raised his fist… and let it fall.
A thunderous twang erupted as a volley of arrows rained down like a storm of death.
Alerak's soldiers raised their shields, bracing themselves. Some fell, pierced by iron tips, but many pressed on, undeterred. Before the bowmen could even nock another arrow, the enemy had reached the walls.
With a roar, they slammed their ladders into the stone, raising them high against the fortress of Astarax. The siege had truly begun.
From behind the walls, those gifted with sorcerous aspects emerged: flames, lightning, and raw energy bursting from their hands. A rain of destruction fell upon the enemy soldiers climbing the ladders, burning wood and flesh alike.
But Alerak's army was prepared.
Barrier-type aspect users stepped forward, conjuring glowing shields of force to deflect the essence onslaught, while archers returned fire, picking off the exposed sorcerers with deadly precision.
At the same time, movement stirred to the east.
Enemy ranks began to shift, forming a tight shield formation, enclosing something within their midst. A dome of steel moved steadily across the battlefield, a mobile fortress of bodies and resolve.
Kaisarius narrowed his eyes.
He raised his hand, signaling the sorcerers to annihilate the formation before it could reach the wall but then, with a thunderous boom, Alerak's bannermen pounded their war drums.
From within the shield formation, the secret was revealed.
A siege engine rolled forward, its design grotesque, serpentine, its metallic body coiling like a beast. A Gate Destroyer.
Infantry closed ranks around it, shields raised high to ward off arrows and fireballs. Step by step, they escorted the monstrous machine toward the capital's gates.
Then it struck-
SLAM!
The walls trembled as the serpent-headed battering ram crashed into the gate, its impact cracking wood and stone alike.
They weren't just trying to climb the walls anymore.
They were trying to tear them down while attacking from every side to overwhelm Kaisarius.
This wasn't just a battle, it was a deadly game of wits between two seasoned warlords. Both Kaisarius and Alerak weren't merely barking orders from behind the lines, they were in the thick of it, commanding and fighting side by side with their men. That alone spoke volumes about their strength as generals.
Each move, each counter, was a clash not only of blades but of minds.
They outmaneuvered each other again and again, anticipating formations, baiting ambushes, adapting mid-fight. Neither held back. It was as if they had studied each other for years, matching wits on a blood-soaked chessboard.
Alerak knew taking the capital wouldn't be easy, not even with its defense barrier shattered. He had once studied its structure inside out, knew its walls, its gates, its weak spots. But he also knew Kaisarius. Knew he would be waiting for any "clever" infiltration attempt.
Alerak didn't waste men sending them through the secret tunnels. He knew they'd die the moment they stepped inside. There was no doubt Kaisarius had trapped every passage and every shadow. That's why he leaned on sheer numbers, to flood Kaisarius and crush him beneath a tide of steel. But even then, he was cautious.
There was also a chance to attack from the mountains in the rear but Alerak refused the bait. He recognized the lure for what it was. Kaisarius was trying to draw him in, to overextend him and spring the trap.
Kaisarius's warriors were already growing exhausted. They had been fighting through the entire night without rest.
And that wasn't the worst of it, not at all.
The air was filled with the stench of blood and rotting corpses. He glanced up at the walls where his bowmen lay scattered, lifeless. Then his gaze shifted to the field beyond the gate, where a grotesque hill of bodies had formed. Despite that, his men launched another volley of arrows, mowing down the enemy soldiers who tried to lift the gate destroyer.
But the moment one wave fell, another took its place with same relentless spite. They continued to slam the serpent-shaped battering ram into the gate with deafening force.
Kaisarius inhaled deeply, his expression grim but resolute. He needed to have patience. They would succeed. His people would come. They had to. They would return with an army so vast and powerful, Alerak would be crushed beneath their heels.
He thought that and than froze.
A tremor passed beneath his boots.
He didn't move at first. Just stood there, eyes narrowing. Then a cold realization struck him like a blade to the spine. His head snapped toward the western wall but it was already too late.
BOOM!
Stone and debris erupted into the sky. The explosion lit the air in a fiery bloom, raining shards of wall and blood onto warriors from both sides.
The west side of wall had been breached.
He cursed under his breath as he watched the enemy flood through the shattered western wall, pouring into the city like a tide of death. His eyes darted back to the battlefield, locking onto Alerak whose face was now lit with a sinister, satisfied grin.
Alerak understood it.
He only had to crush the front gates now, and the city would fall. Victory was inevitable. From the very beginning, this had been a hopeless battle. A slow bleed masked as resistance.
Kaisarius's once-proud force of four thousand had been whittled down to barely a thousand, maybe even less. Meanwhile, Alerak still commanded over twelve thousand warriors, fresh and ruthless.
It was only a matter of time.
Soon... the Line of Varin would fall. And Alerak would be the one to end it.
Wait a second... Where the hell did Kaisarius go? Alerak frowned, eyes scanning the chaos. Had he run?
No. That was impossible.
Kaisarius wasn't the type to flee. He would rather die on the front lines than abandon his people. Hell, Alerak was absolutely sure that if it meant peace and prosperity for his realm, Kaisarius would willingly offer his own head on a silver platter.
So where the hell had he disappeared to?
The answer came like a thunderclap.
The deep, thunderous boom of a war drum echoed across the battlefield, louder than before, shaking the bones of both armies. All eyes turned to the city gate… just in time to witness it shimmer and twist.
The colossal gates of capital, blackened by fire and scarred by war, began to glow. A molten hue overtook them, and within seconds the iron and oak turned to brilliant, liquid gold.
A moment of stunned silence followed.
Then the golden tide surged forward.
Molten gold poured down the steps like a flood, sweeping through the ranks of Alerak's front-line warriors, those who had just moments ago been slamming their siege weapon into the gate. Screams filled the air as the searing metal consumed them, drowning armor, flesh, and bone in a radiant, glimmering wave.
The gate destroyer cracked, snapped, and vanished beneath the golden flood.
Then, just as suddenly the gold hardened.
The wave froze mid-motion and than flood had cooled, solidifying into a twisted sculpture of screaming men and shattered weapons.
Kaisarius rode forth, his silhouette framed against the glow of golden death.
And from atop that macabre monument, he emerged on top of the mighty steed... Or something like that.
The beast beneath him bore a single, jagged horn jutting from its skull, like a unicorn. But there was nothing pure or gentle about this creature.
Its claws scraped against the stone as it moved, too long and curved for any natural beast. Its legs were thick and powerful, ending in paws like a wolf's and was coated in dark fur that glistened with ichor. A long, whip-like tail swung behind it, tipped with a spiked iron ball that clanged with every step, leaving cracks in the ground.
The only thing remotely equine was its head, and even that was wrong. It was stretched, skeletal, with black veins pulsing beneath its pale skin.
Behind Kaisarius, the cavalry emerged, riding in silence. There was no need for words. They followed their king not for glory, not for victory, but to die beside him.
For Kaisarius, there was no other path. Only through this final stand could he buy the time his people needed.
The cavalry charged, riding across the bridge and shattering enemy's line beneath them, bodies thrown into the river below as they tore through with relentless momentum.
At the front, Kaisarius rode alone, white sword in hand, his gaze locked on the figure standing at the far end of the bridge.
Their eyes met. One was a storm of fury and loathing, the other cold and unreadable, like still water before it froze over.
Alerak sneered, spitting curses under his breath. With a snarl, he leapt onto his monstrous white hound, the beast howling with bloodlust.
Across from him, Kaisarius leaned forward, whispering something to his mount.
And then two mighty beast clashed.
A beastial horse and hound collided like titans, tearing into each other, blood splashing across the bridge as fangs met flesh, horns met bone.
Their riders flew, Kaisarius and Alerak leaping from their saddles mid-air, blades drawn one last time.
Alerak sneered, his expression curled with disdain.
"You've already lost, scum. Your army is shattered, your walls are falling... and you-" he spat the word like venom, "are already dead. Look around. What do you hope to accomplish? Even if you strike me down... there will be nothing left."
Kaisarius closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath. The weight of blood, fire, sacrifice all pressing down on his shoulders. But then… he exhaled, eyes snapping open with fierce clarity, and a cracked smile stretched across his face.
"Well..." he said slowly, voice laced with exhaustion and contempt, "I wouldn't be so sure, Usurper."
He laughed weakly until it turned sharp and mocking.
"Look up, Alerak."
The Usurper frowned, turning his gaze toward the hills and than slowly widened in desbilief and anger.
There, two thousand cavalrymen stood like a silver tide above the valley, the wind tearing through their banners. At their front rode a man cloaked in flowing wizard's robes, his staff glowing with silver light.
And from the north, the sea churned as dozens of battleships surged toward the land, sails bloated, iron-plated hulls gleaming under moon.
Kaisarius grinned darkly, eyes burning with fury and triumph.
"You were always a pathetic loser. That part hasn't changed, maggot."
***
Guys, I was thinking about Amon's flaws. There are some that I like and that also don't cripple him.
1. Flaw: Compulsive Kleptomania
"If it exists, it can be stolen. And if it can be stolen, it must be."
2. Flaw: Blasphemous Dare
"If it's forbidden, it must be touched. If it's sealed, it must be opened. If it's sacred, it must be defied."
These flaws make him more chaotic and uncontrollable. I did consider giving him more severe flaws, but honestly, that would just make writing a pain. It becomes too burdensome.
Besides, these fit well with the traits of the Marauder Pathway anyway. so what do you think? Let me know your thoughts.
Oh, and I'm also thinking about his true name. Which one do you think works better?
1. The Blasphemer
2. Mr. Error
The one that has more votes wins.
***