Shadow Slave

In front of the city gate, Effie and Jet were entangled in a ferocious fight against the King of Kings. Even suppressed, weakened by the powerful enchantment of the Mist Blade, and suffering the agony of a deep soul wound — his soul core covered by a net of fine cracks — he was still as oppressive as ever, pushing both of them to the brink.

On the battlements, Kai was struggling to prevent the Dread Warriors from overwhelming the defenders of the city and taking control of the wall. His voice ignited the hearts of the soldiers and strengthened their resolve, averting a devastating rout, and his blade was carving a path to one of the two remaining siege towers...

But he couldn’t be in two places at once, and so, the situation was growing worse with each minute.

In the dry riverbed, a harrowing slaughter was taking place, with both sites refusing to crumble despite the staggering losses. On the frontline, Morgan was facing the six remaining Dread Generals, while Nightwalker kept the Transcendent champions from lesser legions of the Steel Horde from coming to their aid.

Death and destruction reigned on the battlefield, the overpowering scent of blood permeating the air.

Surrounded by that maddening scent, Seishan slowly ascended the wall.

She was moving slowly, keeping one hand on the weathered stones. The plague was ravaging her body, making each step feel like a deathly struggle — hunched, hiding her pestilent visage behind a crimson cloak, wrapped in it and trembling from phantom cold, she climbed the steps one after another, eventually reaching the battlements above the riverbed.

Below her, Morgan and Nightwalker were making their stand, and further away, two berserk armies were slaughtering each other in the blood-soaked mud. In the distance, a horrid storm of violence was sending tremors through the entire battlefield, splitting the earth — that was Effie and Jet fighting an invincible Supreme. And not too far away, myriad warriors of the Steel Horde were spilling onto the battlements from the mouth of a colossal siege tower.

Seishan gazed at the tower for a few moments. Just then, swift figures wearing crimson flashed past her, rushing toward it — those were her warriors, chosen elites who had been granted the gift of her blood. Now that they had joined the battle, the siege tower was going to fall soon...

At the very least, the Steel Horde was not going to advance on this section of the rampart anymore, giving Kai time to bring the other tower down.

But that was not what Seishan had come to accomplish.

‘Ah... the scent... it’s driving me mad...’

Seishan was capable of drawing power from spilled blood. And on this terrifying battlefield, rivers of blood were being spilled every moment — so, her powers soared to impossible heights, elevating her strength by a tremendous amount. However, her Flaw made it difficult to resist the overpowering scent, pushing Seishan to the threshold of murderous frenzy.

Inhaling deeply, she pushed her unquenchable thirst into the darkest depths of her consciousness and then called upon her powers.

Far away, dodging a blow from Jet and sending Effie staggering back with a crushing strike, Azarax frowned.

The small cut on his forearm was barely seeping with blood now... then, however, its flow became stronger. Just a few moments later, blood was trickling down his arm in a stream once again, painting his entire hand red.

That was the power of Seishan’s Aspect, the power that made even the smallest wound lethally dangerous.

Azarax himself was not too troubled by the new development — no matter how powerful Seishan was, it would take her months to bleed him dry.

However, he wasn’t the main focus of her attack.

Far away, at the mouth of the dry riverbed, Morgan was fighting the Dread Generals — the greatest champions of the Steel Horde and his most prized trophies. After killing one of them, she had not managed to bring down any of the remaining six... yet. However, they had not escaped the ferocious confrontation unscathed.

Each was covered by myriad cuts, some of fine and shallow, some deep enough to leave marks on their bones.

And all those cuts were bleeding.

The cuts were producing little blood before, but now, the bleeding was gradually growing more dire. Trickles of blood were already flowing down their bodies, staining their clothes and armor red — it was as if the Dread Generals were drained of life through hundreds of minor wounds, slowly turning into morbid, bloodied apparitions.

Azarax threw a somber glance that way.

As the War Maiden and the terrifying wraith that served her continued their desperate assault, he blocked and evaded their attacks, all the while considering the situation.

Azarax had confidence that he could press this attack, eventually decimating the defenders of the city. However, the question was — at what cost? Was he willing to lose the best of his thralls, whom he had collected over long years of unceasing conquest? His most treasured trophies... the living testaments to his glory.

The Steel Horde itself, too, would suffer grievous losses — enough so to postpone his next conquest, perhaps, and give his remaining enemies time to accumulate more power.

Even if the War Maiden and her five deadly lieutenants came to replace the Dread Generals, would that be enough to satiate his ambition?

The answer was... yes, perhaps. The more they resisted him, the more he desired to make them his.

But he did not have to wager everything on one battle.

The walls of the city were already breached, and no matter how hard the cowardly Mason King tried, he was not going to close the breach in a matter of days. There would be another battle, and one more after that, and one more after that...

Enough of them to slowly grind the defenders of the city into dust without having to sacrifice so much.

And so, Azarax smiled darkly.

Pushing the War Maiden back, he disengaged and created distance between himself and the fearsome wraith, moving closer to the boundary of the Mason King’s power.

There, he stopped for a moment and then raised his arms, as if wishing to encompass the gruesome expanse of the blood-soaked battlefield.

“Tell me, priestess... how many battles like this do you think you can last?”

Effie lowered her battered shield, too tired to answer.

Jet hovered near her, watching Azarax coldly, ready to repel his next attack.

...But no attack came.

Instead, the King of Kings retreated with a grin, and soon enough, the war horns of the Steel Horde roared, commanding the myriad warriors to retreat.

Effie staggered, leaning on her shield to stay standing.

High above, on the wall, Seishan sighed and leaned on the parapet of the battlement, the old stones slick with blood.

Kai watched a siege tower burn with a distant expression.

Nightwalker cursed quietly, struggling to make his way back across a carpet of corpses and lamenting the fate of his boots. Morgan assumed her human form, looking at the retreating Dread Generals with a cold, gloomy expression.

The battle was over...

The city still stood.

***

After the battle came to an end, the defenders of the city were exhausted and dazed, slow to recover from the shock of the boundless slaughter.

However, the long and tedious cleanup still had to take place.

The wounded were sent to the healers. The dead were tallied.

The bodies were collected, stripped of armor, and burned.

This time, there were too many dead to burn them with mundane fire, so Awakened with suitable Aspects were called upon to perform the grim duty.

In the evening, as the sun fell beyond the horizon, Effie slowly made her way to the temple of Beast God.

She had won another victory... but her heart was heavy.

Because this victory held little meaning. The river was still gone. There was still a gaping hole in the city wall. The plague was still ravaging its streets...

And Azarax was not going to stay still and let them recover.

There would be another assault, and another one, and another one after that. They might repel one attack, or two... or perhaps even a dozen.

But it was all futile. In truth, the fate of the city had already been decided, and all they were doing was prolonging its suffering. Effie entered the temple, which had been turned into a hospital, and was led to Seishan’s quarters. There, the proud Princess of Song was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, black blood flowing from her pores, from between her lips, and from her eyes.

Effie regarded her ghastly state for a while, then asked:

”Hey, Seishan. Are you closer to healing the plague?”

Shivering, Seishan looked up and considered her with cloudy eyes.

”You mean closer than yesterday? Well... sure. A little closer, I suppose.”

Her voice was hoarse and brittle.

Effie remained silent, observing her with a somber expression. In the dim darkness of the inner sanctum, deep shadows were cast on her face.

She did not speak for a long time. Eventually, though, she said:

”...Don’t heal it, Seishan.”

Effie leaned toward her and said in a low tone:

”Make it stronger instead.”