[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I AM CURRENTLY UNDERGOING A MASSIVE STRATEGIC REWRITE OF THE CHAPTER 5, SO YOU MAY EXPERIENCE A JUMP IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, KINDLY BEAR WITH ME. CHAPTER 5 WILL BE UPLOADED TOMORROW :) THX U ALL ]

  Eila paused at the threshold. He glanced over his shoulder, the pitch-black void of his left eye swallowing even the mana.

  "Just make sure it hurts."

  ________________

  The night over Oakhaven was serene.

  Atop the high stone walls of the Northern Gate, the watch guards stamped their boots against the cold. Down below, the fortress city was aggressively alive, the late-night market bustling with more energy and lantern light than during the day.

  Brant, a young guardsman, slid a fresh torch into its iron sconce. A bitter wind ruffled his hair.

  "Hey, Voss," Brant called out. He leaned over the stone parapet, watching the crowded, glowing market below. "What do you say about going to the bar tonight?"

  Voss grunted, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark tree line. "You ever get something good in that mind of yours?" He sighed, scratching the rough stubble on his jaw. "Fine, I'll go. But the hangover is going to be a pain in the ass."

  A few paces down, a younger guard leaned dangerously far over the edge of the wall.

  "What's that?" The guard yanked a brass spyglass from his belt, extending the lens toward the pitch-black forest.

  A violent, sickly crimson light was bleeding through the distant trees. It was moving fast.

  It was a demonic horde. Hundreds of them. They weren't riding horses; the Vanguard of the Abyss charged forward atop massive, shadow-black hounds. The beasts tore through the brush, carrying demons gripping thick, jagged torches that burned with a corrosive, unnatural fire.

  They were heading straight for the gate.

  "SOUND THE ALARM!" Voss screamed, his voice cracking under the sudden terror. "DEMON HORDE, DEAD AHEAD!"

  The massive iron bells of Oakhaven violently shattered the serene night. Guards barked frantic orders down into the streets, shoving terrified civilians back into the stone buildings and barricading the heavy wooden doors.

  "What is the report?"

  Lord Elmoire, the Captain of the Oakhaven Knights, ascended the stone stairs with heavy steps. A thick fur mantle rested on his broad shoulders, shielding him from the bitter frost. A scar running down from his right eye.

  "Demon Horde, My Lord, roughly three hundred strong!" Voss reported, his chest heaving. "Approaching rapidly toward the Northern Gate!"

  "Then fortify the entrance!" Lord Elmoire roared, his voice cutting through the panic. "Deploy all A-Tier and above shield mages directly to the barricades! Send a rider to the Ivory Tower and the Royal Palace, we need the full Vanguard here immediately!"

  He extended his armored hand. His lieutenant, a terrifyingly calm woman named Maiya, stepped forward and placed a massive, steel-tipped lance into his grip.

  Lord Elmoire turned to face his terrified men, raising the heavy weapon high into the freezing air.

  "The Abyss looks upon us and sees only frail flesh and brittle bone!" Lord Elmoire bellowed, his voice carrying the immense weight of a seasoned veteran. "They march from the dark believing we are nothing but cattle waiting for the slaughter. But they do not understand the fundamental truth of mortal men! We bleed, we fracture, and we die, yet we do not yield! Tonight, we do not just hold a wall of stone. We hold the line between existence and the void! Prove to these abominations what it means to stand against the dark! Show them the indomitable, unbroken, unwavering spirit of Oakhaven, of Aethelgard, of HUMANITY!"

  The mages surged forward, their circuits flaring as they heavily fortified the heavy wooden gates with overlapping layers of raw mana. Every available Vanguard knight flooded the northern battlements, drawing their steel.

  Lord Elmoire took his position on the raised command platform, his eyes locked on the encroaching crimson light, ready for a siege that would never come.

  Dead silence.

  Voss lowered the spyglass, his armored hands trembling slightly.

  "What is the matter, recruit?" Lord Elmoire's voice cut through the freezing silence. "The report?"

  "T-They have... they have vanished, My Lord," Voss stammered. "Gone."

  "What do you mean?" Lord Elmoire yelled into the night. "What do you mean gone?"

  "They aren't here, My Lord. There is no trace of them. No tracks, no light."

  Lord Elmoire gripped his lance, his combat instincts screaming. Why would the Abyssal forces stage a grand charge with three hundred of their kind just to turn away? It was an illogical and useless risk. Even the demons would not waste such an offensive.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "THE DEMONS HAVE FLED! A MASSIVE VICTORY TO SIR ELMOIRE!" Brant screamed, his young voice breaking as he desperately celebrated the unexpected silence.

  "Stop at once, recruit!" Lord Elmoire warned, looking frantically into the dark tree line.

  "THEY FLED FROM THE SPIRIT OF—"

  THHHUUMPPP.

  Brant spat out a mouthful of dark blood. His vision violently blurred as he looked down at his own torso. A steel blade was sticking directly out of his chestplate, having pierced him cleanly from behind.

  "O-Oi... Brant...?" Voss stammered. He staggered backward, his sword slipping from his grip as a raw scream tore from his throat.

  The siege hadn't come from the North gate. The screams were rising from the streets below. Hundreds of demons were already flooding into the city from the Eastern wall, exploiting a massive blind spot in the mana-dome entirely unknown to the Vanguard.

  Lwastik stood in centre of the Vanguards and the security overseen by Lord Elmoire. He violently twisted the sword inside Brant's spine, then snatched it out with a sickening tear of flesh. The Demonic General casually swished the steel through the freezing air to rid it of the blood.

  He smiled.

  Before the mages could even charge their circuits, Lord Elmoire's heavy fur coat hit the stone.

  He moved with a speed that defied his heavy armor. His iron boots violently shattered the ground as he launched himself directly at the Demonic General.

  "LWASTIK!" Elmoire roared, his voice thick with pure fury.

  Lwastik barely raised his blade in time. The weapons clashed with a deafening ring of steel, sending a kinetic shockwave that cracked the mana-reinforced walls. Lwastik skidded backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the stone floor.

  "Still swinging with that human grief, Elmoire?" Lwastik sneered, shaking his numb wrists. He aimed a sweeping kick at the Captain's ribs. "It's been years, move on!"

  "AS IF!"

  Elmoire dropped, spinning beneath the kick, its impact tearing a hole in a nearby house. He jumped back and planted his boot against the wall, using it as a launchpad. He vaulted forward, bringing his massive steel-tipped lance down in a blinding arc.

  Lwastik's eyes widened. He tried to twist away.

  "FUTILE!"

  The heavy lance sheared clean through Lwastik's shoulder, severing his right arm completely before burying its steel tip deep into the stone floor.

  Elmoire immediately abandoned the stuck polearm, smoothly drawing his serrated saber in a single, fluid motion as he landed.

  "You take humanity for a whim, mongrel," Elmoire growled, pointing the saber at the bleeding demon. "Surrender, and your death will be swift."

  Lwastik looked at his severed stump. Then, he burst into a booming, sadistic laugh, clutching his stomach with his remaining hand.

  "Oh, you arrogant, fragile fools..." Lwastik barked.

  The stump violently bubbled. Blood gushed out rapidly.

  SNAP.

  A brand-new arm was fully formed. Lwastik flexed his dark fingers, casually lifting his new arm to lick the residual blood clean off his forearm.

  "You think your human steel matters, Mr. Elmoire?" Lwastik smiled, picking up his rusted sword. "Care for another dance?"

  Lord Elmoir straightened his saber, the dying screams of his city echoing behind him.

  ______________

  The capital's throne room, once an untouchable sanctuary of blinding white marble and gold, now reeked of stale wine and nervous sweat.

  King Aldous sat slumped on the royal dais. He looked less like a sovereign and more like a decaying corpse wrapped in heavy velvet. His hair was thinning in jagged, stressed patches, and his cheeks were violently sunken. Eila's rampage had shattered the illusion of the Kingdom's absolute power, and it had physically aged the King a decade in a matter of days.

  With desperate, trembling authority, he had summoned Imara.

  She stood at the base of the throne's steps, her Vanguard Healer uniform heavily wrinkled and dusted with ash. She didn't bow. As Eila's childhood friend, the psychological toll of the Fallen Hero's betrayal hung heavily on her shoulders. She looked up at the pathetic ruler, her eyes hollow and exhausted.

  She waited in the suffocating silence for the King to speak.

  "I order you to go and stop Eila from this madness." Aldous tried to maintain his royal authority, but his voice violently trembled.

  "You want me to talk to him," Imara repeated, her voice dead flat. She stared at the monarch, certain his mind had finally snapped. "No."

  "Imara, please!" Aldous rasped, tears streaking through the dirt and wrinkles on his sunken face. "He is destroying everything. Oakhaven was burned to the ground last night, the demons knew of a weakness in the Mana Dome. The Vanguard there is dead in its entirety. You are the only one he might still recognize."

  Imara let out a short laugh. "Listen to me? You took a boy who bled for your mud, and you dragged his sister onto a chopping block to appease The Church. You slaughtered his reason to protect this throne. I hope he burns it all to the ground."

  "Wait!" The King threw himself from his throne. His heavy velvet robes dragged across the floor as he crawled toward her on his hands and knees. "I know we deserve his wrath! But the innocents, Imara. The people who had no part in it. The children. Please... just let me show you."

  He motioned weakly to the Royal Guards. They wheeled in a sequence of silver medical carts, pulling back the heavy black sheets.

  Imara, a seasoned Vanguard Healer, immediately covered her mouth as the suffocating stench of butchered meat and melted coin hit the air.

  These were the remains of the ministers of Aethelgard. One had his entire ribcage violently inverted; the shattered white ribs were folded inward, acting as a cage for his crushed skull. Another had been completely transfigured into a horrifying, living statue, his flesh fused flawlessly with the molten gold of his hoarded wealth, his face locked in a silent scream forever.

  Imara stared at the bodies, absolute dread pooling in her stomach. If Eila had given them swift executions, she would have gladly watched the capital burn. But this level of deliberate cruelty meant Eila was not only killing his targets. He was drowning in the dark himself.

  She looked away from the golden corpse, her eyes hardening.

  "Tell me where he is," she whispered. "I will talk to him."

  _________

  "There is one alive! Send a healer here, Now!" A junior scout screamed, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

  The Oakhaven had been erased. The once bustling markets were now stained with ash of the stalls and dark, drying blood.

  "You think they will call it the Fourth Great Demonic Siege?" A newly deployed Vanguard talked to his fellow. His eyes wide at the sheer destruction and pillage.

  "Maybe," the fellow replied, looking at the pile of bodies laid down in front of them, most of them were mangled and beaten to a point beyond recognition. "But we didn't even get a chance to fight back, they killed almost everyone in an instant."

  One the far left side, there laid a single body. It was resting under the shade of a thick oak tree, covered respectfully from head to toe by a fur-coat.

  There was a broken blade resting beside him, and attached to it was a note. The handwriting was botched with tears and shaking hands. It read:

  "The only spirit those demons couldn't conquer or waver. May you soar higher than this hell, My Captain. - Voss"

  Drop your theories below too! I read them all and it really helps out the book!

  :)