And like that, time began to shift.
Screams of terror filled the outskirts of Trishtan.
A storm of rain and thunder began.
It persisted for over thirty days, never resting.
Whole villages were slain overnight.
Each raid more efficient than the last.
Everyone but one spared.
And with each, the army grew.
From time to time, the clanging of metal echoed through the hills...
But sometimes, not from far away.
Sometimes, it came from within.
Blood drenched the ground.
And laughter followed.
Not human laughter.
Laughter that enjoyed every. Single. Second.
Even the few who escaped the nightmare
Found no safety.
Wingless, lizard-like horrors followed —
Silent and patient.
They stalked through the dark.
They hunted through the trees.
They devoured without mercy.
After 30 days of brutal preparation, it began.
Each commander was sent to a different town.
Each with their own mountain to climb.
Each with their own contingency to deploy except one…
The second phase of Zero's plan had begun.
A legion of bone walkers marched toward a fortified town, around it was a transparent magic barrier which kept a thin mist which hovered over the plain.
A great chilling wind carried the faint cries of the void with every step.
To the side Arcaeus stood behind Augustus, crimson sockets burning in anticipation, yet Augustus sockets weren't glowing: he now wore mythrandors cloak which was still in same condition it was in previously, but now black and grey in colour, sigils upon were also still present
Augustus watched over his army, clutching his open grimoire as glowing pink symbols spun around its core…
Flashback
Zero sat down while Augustus was a few feet behind him.
"Sir, with all due respect... only 400? Against 2,000 people? Not just that but there is no plan of attack?"
Zero said nothing. His focus stayed locked on the heap of bones in front of him, necrotic mana weaved through the air as he molded a new undead creature into being.
Augustus stepped forward, more insistent. "This is a joke, isn't it? These towns are fortified. This isn't like the scattered settlements we tore through before. Only a madman would think this is possible."
Zero finally stood, his back to Augustus.
"Then I guess I'm a madman."
Augustus stood, taken aback. "Sir—what?"
Zero turned his head slightly, his voice dropping cold and sharp.
"Augustus, my order is absolute. Don't ever question it."
"Sire, I think you are severely underestimating this!"
Zero turned: his face so cold that Augsutus could feel it within his soul.
Augustus froze for a moment as Zero approached, slow and silent, until he was right beside him.
A hand rested on Augustus's shoulder, unnaturally heavy.
"Your're a commander now. Act like it.
Sire..
"Don't be mistaken to think—I am afraid to kill you a second time, Augustus."
Augustus went quiet….
Zero head tilted slightly.
A whisper, venomous and low: besides, I didn't resurrect you to query me. I resurrected you to obey to me."
Zero gave him a slight shove as he turned away, returning to his craft. The aura of death around him pulsed with finality.
"Figure it out. I'm sure you've got a spell or two that can handle it." Zero waved Augustus off dismissively. "Now leave."
Augustus stood still, silent. He gave a small nod and walked away, knowing full well:
One more word out of line, and Zero wouldn't hesitate to make that threat a promise.
Back to the present
Augustus now atop Arcaeus its eyes burned vibrantly while Augustus began infusing each floating symbol with glowing white light.
"Hex," he muttered.
But this time, instead of the usual white glow, the spell twisted, forming a reddish-pink sphere of mana.
He threw it. It seared through the air. Smooth, brisk, and silent — unnoticed by any soul in the sleeping town. The sphere ascended, aligning with the moon… and slowly consumed its light, blotting out the sky above them.
A mist that was surrounding over the plains thickened, its colour shifting to a deep, blood-red haze.
Augustus raised his hand skyward as Arcaeus halted.
His grimoire flipped furiously.
With a single motion of his other hand, a wave of mana washed over the bonewalkers. They were tense. They understood.
A moment of silence.
Then an eerie, distorted voice echoed — carried by the wind, whispered like a curse:
"Charge."
All 400 skeletons surged toward the village, weapons ready.
Stronger. Faster. Sharpened by their time in the Junkyard.
"Eclipse."
Red spheres burst across the village. Faint symbols swirled inside them as they branded every living being — guards, civilians, even those deep in their beds — without anyone noticing.
Two soldiers stood guard at the front gate, torches in hand.
One was dozing off, and noticed the mist had thickened.
"Hey, lieutenant …" He said, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, what's up, rookie?"
"The mist's really thick tonight, huh?"
"Yeah… but when is it not? It's always misty over this side at night that's why we've got that magic barrier keepin' the worst of it out,"
He plopped down on a crate. "Well, I brought lunch, hehe!" the rookie said, grinning lazily.
The lieutenant approached.
"You seem tired," she said, "You can head in for the night. I'll cover this post, there's never anything going on anyway."
"No, it's fine! I'll stay, lieutenant."
"You sure, rookie? Really, it's okay to rest."
This kid's just trying to impress me, she thought, giving a faint smile.
"So… lieutenant, you want some?"
"No, I'm fine—" grrrrrk
Her stomach betrayed her.
She quickly sat beside him, accepting a cooked chicken leg.
They laughed and chatted into the night, unaware.
"Lieutenant, want sauce with that?" the rookie asked, soup smeared on his face
Then—
A short burst of chilling wind rushed past. The torches flickered… and died.
So did every light in the town.
The lieutenant dropped her third piece of meat and stood instantly, sword drawn and shield ready.
She was a tall beastkin — catlike ears perked up, short and bushy light brown ponytail, bronze eyes with faint brown freckles across her cheeks. Her armour was full-bodied, polished, and tight to form — a stark contrast to her wild ancestors. Her stance was graceful — poised.
She listened.
Nothing but the thick, choking mist.
Then:
"Crack. Clang."
Fast, weightless footsteps.
"ROOKIE, GET UP!"
He shot to his feet, mouth still full of food.
"YES, LIEUTENANT!"
He was an orc — small for his kind, just 5'6", with a black, short-haired mohawk. His armor barely fit his hulking frame, small tusks poked out from a crooked smile moments before.
"GET INSIDE — NOW!"
She kicked the door open.
"HOLD IT WITH EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT!"
She climbed up a ladder on the wall to ring the alarm bell. But what she saw from the top stopped her breath:
"...Skeletons?!"
A necromancer?! Here?! Now?!
"Everything okay up there, lieutenant?!" the rookie called.
She didn't answer.
BANG!
The door was struck — hard.
The rookie's muscles flexed, straining. "lieutenant — what's going on?!"
She looked further and saw it:
An undead mage and its monstrous, cursed-born charger; sockets blazing red, rushing toward the town.
A trail of decay followed in their wake.
"lieutenant, I CAN'T HOLD MUCH LONGER!"
"No… No… NO!"
"Is that— an undead necromancer?!"
As she rang the bell with all her strength, the door shattered below her.
Bonewalkers flooded in, overwhelming the rookie, pushing him back.
Some tripped at the entrance — but others poured past them.
"ROOKIE, RUN! Don't take them on yet! I'll find you later!"
She kept ringing the bell, screaming:
"Everyone — we're under attack!!"
Augustus' sockets sparked, as he snapped his teeth, together grinding them, every stride with Arcaeus, breaking the ground. "I'll show you…" Mana spiralled around him — heavy, unstable, drawn from Arcaeus, syncing with his silent rage.
Thirty days of training. Thirty days of waiting. Thirty days of doubt.
No more.
His sockets lit up ferociously, burning a crimson red.
Maw creaked wide as his voice cracked open like a scream from the pit:
"I WILL SHOW YOU ALL!!"
Augustus mana exploded.