At the Baraba Fort of the Berrygreat Valley, which is an entrance into the Karo province, a siege is currently going on in the morning as the imperial army started assaulting the outer walls with siege towers and war machines a week ago, while Zarking just watches the siege from inside the main tent of his army camp as he sits cross-legged like a thug on the big ornate chair with a bored expression as he gnaws on a roasted pig leg while occasionally throwing stuff at passing servants like a rascal.
"Hmm..." Zarking put down the pig leg momentarily, his fingers drumming on the armrest as he opened his mouth to yell. "TOMATO! POTATO! I want roasted pig!"
"You already ate it, my emperor," muttered the slave warrior, who wasn't named any of those, while he watched Zarking's half-eaten pig leg slide greasily off his hand and the armrest onto the embroidered carpet. The emperor blinked at it, then at the slave with a face that looked like a child who just discovered taxes for the first time.
"Did I?" Zarking muse, tapping his chin with greasy fingers. His eyes—unfocused but glittering with manic energy—darted toward the tent's entrance, where the distant screams of dying men and the rhythmic thud of catapults echoed. The siege has been going on for hours, and the casualties from both sides are crossing thousands.
"But what if... I didn't? What if..." Zarking gasped dramatically, clutching his beard. "What if the pig ATE ME?!"
"….." The slave warrior just stared blankly, not knowing what to say to that statement, but before he could think of what to say, Zarking suddenly snatched up the pig leg on the ground and took a massive bite, chewing loudly while juice ran down his chin. The slave warrior was amazed that the mad emperor somehow still had some sense left to chew on the side that didn't touch the ground.
"No, no, this is MY leg now!" Zarking declared through a mouthful of meat, waving the bone like a scepter. "Let's see YOU try to eat ME, piggy!"
Outside, a particularly loud boom followed by the loud crash shook the earth as one of the siege towers collapsed against the fort's outer wall from an explosion, sending flaming debris raining down on both attackers and defenders. The magician from the enemy side seems to be finally making a move, which prompts the archers from below the wall to concentrate their arrows at one location that the magician seems to be at.
Zarking didn't even glance toward the noise; his attention had been caught by one of his generals hesitating near the tent flap, sweat dripping down the man's cheek as he was quite rightfully wary to approach the emperor.
"You! PIG!" Zarking bellowed, hurling the gnawed pig leg directly at the general's face. The man didn't dare dodge—experience had taught them that dodging sometimes might make it worse—so the bone connected with a wet smack against his helmet and bounced off harmlessly. "Why isn't there SINGING?!"
"My... my emperor?" The general wiped pork grease from his eyebrows, confused about what the hell the emperor was saying, but he decided to ignore it and just do what he came here to do: report the situation at the wall.
"Our soldiers had gained some footholds on the wall, but our reports indicate Duke Bastari's force has deployed their magicians. They're…" A sudden explosion outside interrupted him mid-speech and rattled the tent flaps violently as the orange light briefly illuminated outside the tent as the general turned to see the situation at the wall while continuing to speak, "…currently incinerating our men in droves."
Zarking blinked slowly, then grinned like a child who'd just been handed a live grenade and told to go throw it at school for extra holidays.
"FIRE...? FIRE is GOOD!" He clapped his hands together with a maniac smile on his face.
"FIRE IS A PARTY! LET'S MAKE IT BIGGER!" Hearing the emperor, the brute slave warrior nearest the tent entrance subtly pressed a gauntleted palm to his forehead, muttering what sounded suspiciously like a prayer under his breath.
With a suddenness that startled the general, Zarking sprang upright, his golden breastplate clanking as the chair toppled behind him before he snatched up the Blade of Ascension that stabbed on the ground near him. The sword seems to pulse eagerly with magic energy in his grip, its edge reflecting light as Zarking waves it around.
"I'LL SING THEM A SONG! A FINE FIRE SONG!" He shrieked, already sprinting past the stunned general and the servants toward the battlefield with great speed, his armored boots kicking up a cloud of dust behind him. The slave warriors exchanged glances and immediately bolted after their master, their warhammers unslung in unison.
Zarking vaulted over the lines of surprised soldiers onto the nearest siege tower; his boot stepped on the random crouching archers as he scaled the tall wooden structure like a deranged squirrel while the slave warriors ran after him.
Finally at the summit of the tower, Zarking paused and looked around like a curious kid just long enough for the stunned soldiers on the wall to resume their fight as the mad emperor backhanded a rather bold soldier's helmet askew and kicked him off the wall since he tried to screw the mad emperor with a sword.
"Hyihahhahahahahiii—!!" Zarking laughs hysterically before leaping from the tower onto the fort's battlements. The Blade of Ascension lashed out before his feet even touched stone, cleaving a defender diagonally from shoulder to hip in a spray of viscera that painted the nearest merlon crimson.
"LA LA LAAA! WHERE'S THE FIRE?!" He screamed, walking over the corpses scattered on the wall with his arms outstretched like a benevolent saint that fools no one.
One of the magicians on the wall barely had time to widen their eyes before Zarking spots him. He quickly raised his arms to cast a spell—only for the emperor to go straight to him and sever both of the magician's wrists with a lightning-fast sword swing and then kick him into the group of soldiers, which resulted in an explosion of spell failure that vaporized three men in a gout of blue fire that curled Zarking's beard tips but left him unburned, cackling as he tapped his sword on his shoulder.
"FINALLY, SOME FIRE!" He howled, kicking a random corpse of a soldier off the wall into a cluster of the soldiers in the fort below. Zarking is really enjoying himself without any care in the world.
Up on the wall, both the Duke's soldiers and the imperial soldiers were very frantic—half-terrified, half-invigorated—as the emperor vaulted merlon to merlon like a drunk monkey with a stick. The emperor's sword slashed with joyous abandon, carving through armor and humans underneath as if it were paper whenever the blade seemed to decide on its own whether it was time for someone in particular to meet their maker.
While Zarking was making a mess of the soldiers on the wall, a spearman suddenly lunged at him, but Zarking caught the shaft between his fingers and snapped it like a twig and followed by throwing the spear tip into the man's face, making him scream as the sharp spear tip stabbed his eye before the emperor kicked him off the wall.
"FLY, FOOL!" He bellowed, grabbing a nearby frightened soldier by his neck and pulling him one-handed to use as a shield for the arrows. The unfortunate soldier's scream was cut short after the fifth arrow punctured his neck—which only made the mad emperor laugh harder.
Then the Zarking's two slave warriors finally arrived on top of the wall. Where Zarking's violence was as chaotic as a hurricane, theirs was as powerful as a meteor.
The first slave warrior landed with a powerful impact that sent defenders tumbling, his warhammer hammering the enemy soldiers in his path to the emperor.
The second slave warrior, the one who definitely wasn't Thomas, blocked a volley of crossbow bolts with his vambrace without stopping as he followed behind his brother, then swung his hammer in a flat arc that swatted away three men like flies.
The two of them moved like siege engines given legs, each step mowing down men left and right on the wall as they cleared a perimeter around their emperor.
Some of the magicians' quick spells slam uselessly against their anti-magic armor; the slave warriors didn't even grunt as they threw the enemy soldiers at the magicians, who had to stop casting spells and dodge the bodies flying at them in panic.
"Hahahahihihihii—!" Zarking laughed crazily amidst the carnage as a stray arrow hit his pauldron and bounced off, making him stop and glare around looking for the offender.
"Tag! You're it!" Seeing no one with a bow in their hand nearby, he snarled and backhanded the poor imperial soldier who was in the wrong place at the wrong time in his eye socket, making all of the ally soldiers give the emperor a wide berth.
Not far from Zarking, the not-Thomas destroyed a shield wall by simply walking through it as the wide-eyed soldiers got pushed out of the way around him like cardboard boxes. Someone even tried stabbing the slave warrior's gap in his armor, but the dagger couldn't pierce through the enchanted mail underneath the armor at all.
The slave warrior grunted and slowly turned before he grabbed the soldier who stabbed him and then lifted the terrified man up by his head. The slave warrior then casually used him to bludgeon two of his comrades off the ramparts as they screamed on their way down.
"BORING!" Zarking suddenly cried out like a spoiled brat, dropping his ass onto the soldier's corpses mid-carnage under the disbelief eyes of the people on the wall. The Sword of Ascension was still fending off some stray arrows automatically in his hand as Zarking rubbed his other hand against his temples.
"No CLOWNS! No DIAMONDS! Ahhh… Where's my FIRE?!" While Zarking was bitching, a huge fireball suddenly materialized seemingly out of nowhere over the people on the wall ten meters high up in the air while the miniature sun bathed them in hot orange light as they stopped fighting and lifted their faces up in unison with a surprised expression.
'What the fuck?' They all thought at the same time...
From the inner keep's highest tower, a group of magicians could be seen standing around the large glowing crimson magic circle engraved on the stone floor as they cast a grand spell with a gibberish chant in unison.
Their target is obvious…
Zarking the Mad!