The sun hung high, its heat pressing down on the damp clearing.
Elrick tugged at his shirt, grimacing. It was still wet from their earlier bath in the lake — clinging uncomfortably — but he'd decided it was bearable enough to wear. Across from him, Beatriz was already fully armored, having buckled herself into the barbed black-and-gold plates long before him. She sat with her usual stillness, helm resting beside her knee, her eyes scanning the treeline while her gauntleted fingers turned a small fish over the flames.
Elrick dropped onto a flat rock near the small campfire, spearing his own catch on a stick and holding it over the crackling wood. The smell of roasted fish mixed with the faint, metallic tang of Beatriz's armor, an odd but oddly fitting combination.
They ate without much conversation — just the muted snap of firewood and the occasional sizzle of dripping fat.
When Elrick finished, he wiped his hands on his trousers and let out a breath.
"Alright," he said, tone half casual, half bracing. "I'm about to call the next summoned. Get ready."
Beatriz gave a short nod, sliding her helm into place.
"Understood."
A faint chime sounded in the air — the familiar interface of the summoning system flaring to life before them.
> [Summoning in Progress…]
The letters burned across the air in ghostly blue light.
Elrick leaned forward slightly as the next line appeared.
> [The Crimson Cataclysm: Morvath]
He stared at the words.
"…Oh, fuck."
The ground shuddered.
A circle bloomed on the earth before them, vast enough to engulf the clearing — a perfect ring of intricate crimson sigils, each one writhing like it had been etched in fresh blood. The air thickened with heat, the scent of burning iron stinging their noses.
Then, with a roar like splitting mountains, he emerged.
The knight was a walking fortress of blackened steel and gold-edged cruelty, towering at nine feet even without his mount. His armor was a masterwork of intimidation — a jagged labyrinth of overlapping plates shaped into barbs, ridges, and cruel flares, as if the metal itself had grown like a predator's carapace. Deep, burning crimson inlays pulsed faintly beneath the plates like veins of molten iron. A heavy mantle of blood-red cloth spilled down his back like a war banner, swaying with every motion.
In his right hand, he gripped a giant lance unlike any mortal-forged weapon — its shaft as thick as a man's arm, its head lined with rows of saw-like blades, each spinning with impossible speed. The edges burned bright red, not from heat alone, but from an unholy energy that screamed faintly in the air. When this weapon struck, it would pierce, tear, and cauterize in one merciless motion.
His left arm bore a perfectly balanced medium-sized shield, etched with curling sigils that glowed with the same furious light. The designs writhed when stared at too long, shedding faint motes of red magic into the air.
And then came his mount.
The warhorse was a colossal beast, fifteen feet at the shoulder — taller than most siege engines. Armor plates matching the knight's own encased it from snout to flank, sculpted into jagged, draconic ridges. Its eyes blazed like furnaces, its mane and tail were living fire, and even its hooves struck the earth with molten sparks. Thick crimson veins glowed beneath its armored legs, pulsing in rhythm with its master's heartbeat. The ground cracked beneath each step, the air warping from the heat it exuded.
When Morvath and his steed moved, they didn't simply approach — they descended, like a thunderclap of blood and fire. They were not an arrival; they were an omen.
Elrick stared up at the towering knight, his mind briefly empty.
Morvath's burning gaze swept over him — cold, measuring — before shifting to Beatriz.
And then… the knight stopped.
His helm tilted slightly.
"Oh," he said, voice a deep, metallic rumble that carried the weight of a thousand battlefields. It wasn't clear if it was recognition, surprise, or something else entirely.
Elrick had known from the moment he read the name that this one would be massive — the kind of towering, armor-clad monstrosity that announced itself from a mile away. Big, loud, and blindingly obvious. There'd be no sneaking anywhere with this walking siege engine looming at his side. Still… at least he wasn't a hundred-foot titan. Could be worse. He'd just park him on the forest near the city and hope for the best.
Straightening, he tried to sound official.
"Do you… swear loyalty to me?"
The silence stretched a heartbeat too long.
Then Morvath lowered his head, the heat from his presence making the air shimmer between them.
"Yes… your Majesty."
Elrick's brow twitched. Is he mocking me? Or am I just reading too much into that? The knight's tone had been utterly serious — but with someone like him, there was no telling.
Elrick simply gave a short nod.
"…Alright then."
Morvath turned his attention fully to him, the faint hum of the spinning lance filling the air like a mechanical heartbeat. The warhorse snorted, scattering sparks as if impatient for orders. The scent of scorched earth lingered around them, and even without moving, the Crimson Cataclysm radiated the kind of presence that would draw eyes from miles away.
Beatriz remained silent, but her visor hid an expression that was… not quite surprise, yet not entirely neutral either.