Dawn — The Silence Before
Dawn broke cold across the eastern plains.
Eighty thousand Dominion soldiers stood in perfect formation across a ten-kilometer front. No movement. No sound. Just presence—massive, inevitable, crushing.
Draven walked the center wall, Chainbreaker resting against his shoulder. Below him, 15,000 soldiers breathed in synchronized rhythm, Bloomscript network active, golden glow pulsing with each shared breath.
Feyra stood in the courtyard, anchoring the field. Her petals drifted on windless air, each one carrying calm through the network.
Zor circled overhead—lightning barely contained, each wingbeat trailing sparks that crackled and died.
Brenn approached. "They're waiting for us to break first. Psychological warfare."
Draven's eyes stayed on the enemy line. "Then we don't break. We move first."
He raised Chainbreaker. The Grimoire of Life manifested beside him, glowing.
His voice carried across the wall: "THEY BRING CHAINS! WE BRING CHOICE! FOR EVERY BEAST WHO EVER DREAMED OF SKY!"
Fifteen thousand voices roared answer.
Across the field, Dominion drums began. Single beat. Unified step forward.
The war began.
The Clash — Three Fronts Ignite
Northern Front:
The first arrows flew at fifty meters.
Bloomring archers loosed in synchronized volley—2,000 shafts rising together, falling like deadly rain. Dominion shields locked. Arrows struck, clattered, most deflected.
Then the lines met.
CRASH.
Shield on shield, the sound like mountains colliding. Four thousand Covenant soldiers hit 25,000 Dominion infantry—impossible odds, suicidal odds.
But they weren't alone.
Brenn led the center wedge, sword high. "PUSH ON THE EXHALE!"
The formation inhaled as one—breath shared through Bloomscript bonds. Then exhaled, shoving with strength that came from 4,000 hearts beating as one.
The Dominion line bent.
Behind them, enslaved Servitors and Nobles strained at chains, forced forward by handlers. They fought not from will but compulsion—strikes sloppy, defensive, afraid.
One Servitor's eyes met a Covenant soldier's. The soldier didn't strike. Whispered: "Soon. Hold on."
A roar shook the northern front. The ground cracked.
One of the Twelve emerged—Ironhide Behemoth, massive as a fortress, hide like burnished steel, four horns glowing with Soulsteel control resonance. Shackles thick as tree trunks wrapped its legs, pulsing blue.
It charged. Not choosing. Compelled.
Covenant soldiers scattered. The Behemoth plowed through ranks, crushing, unstoppable.
Brenn rallied: "Beast Speakers! Get ready!"
Three volunteers broke from formation, severance tools glowing in hands, sprinting toward the Behemoth's flanks.
Center Front:
Siege towers ground forward, wheels churning earth. Twelve towers, each ten meters tall, packed with Dominion heavy infantry. At their base: 800 proto-harmonics moving in perfect synchronization—no fear, no hesitation, just mechanical advance.
And in the center of the field: Terys.
The Cindershell Tortoise stood motionless, shell glowing with internal heat. Around her: 20 Beast Speakers, nervously gripping severance tools.
Ryl stood atop Terys's shell, watching the approach. "Steady. Let them come to us."
Proto-harmonics hit first—silent, coordinated, deadly. They moved like water around obstacles, reforming instantly, no wasted motion.
Covenant defenders met them in breath-synchronized formations. Swords clashed against Soulsteel frames, sparks flying.
One proto-harmonic fell, skull split. It crawled forward on broken limbs, still trying to execute its last command.
"NOW!" Ryl shouted.
Terys deployed Molten Sanctuary.
Heat exploded outward—thirty-meter radius turned furnace-hot. Proto-harmonics inside the zone staggered, metal frames expanding from heat, joints seizing. Covenant soldiers inside felt warmth, not pain.
Beast Speakers surged forward under Terys's protection, sprinting toward enslaved beasts pulling siege towers.
Southern Front:
Twenty-five thousand cavalry charged across open plains—thunder of hooves, cloud of dust, unstoppable momentum.
They hit Covenant lines like hammer on anvil.
Lysara led the counter-charge—5,000 League cavalry, lighter, faster, more maneuverable. Her Shadow-Panther (Nightcarver) moved like liquid darkness, claws tearing through enemy mounts.
Behind the Dominion cavalry: aerial units. Enslaved hawks and small drakes, handlers on their backs, raining arrows and fire from above.
And then: heat.
Not fire. Heat. The air itself turned molten.
Varyn emerged from the smoke.
The Direwolf King walked through Dominion lines like they were tall grass. Mane blazing full strength, each step left glowing prints that ignited anything nearby.
He didn't roar. Didn't need to.
Cavalry horses screamed, threw riders, fled.
Varyn accelerated—blur of flame, moving faster than eyes could track. Claws raked mounted soldiers from saddles. Breath melted armor to slag. He was everywhere and nowhere, heat-shimmer making him impossible to target.
One enslaved drake dove at him, compelled by its handler.
Varyn caught it mid-air, jaws closing on its neck—not killing bite, severance bite. His fire burned through the drake's shackles.
The drake froze, suddenly free. Looked at Varyn. Then at the handler on its back.
The handler screamed as his own beast turned on him.
Varyn released the drake, sent mental image: Choose. Fight free, or flee. Both acceptable.
The drake chose. Turned on the cavalry that had enslaved it.
Varyn moved on. The hunt had just begun.
First Hour Overview:
Chaos. Noise. Blood.
Three fronts grinding against each other—not clean, not heroic, just brutal attrition. Dominion had numbers. Covenant had unity.
And slowly, in gaps between combat, Beast Speakers worked.
Darting between lines, pressing severance tools against enslaved beasts. Three seconds. Resonance pulse. Chains dissolving.
Success rate: 60% (lower than training—real combat too chaotic)
Casualties: 12 Beast Speakers dead in first hour (exposed, targeted, overwhelmed)
Beasts Freed: ~200 (some fled, some fought for Covenant, some just stood confused)
Then Vael Ruun, watching from his command platform, realized.
"They're breaking the bonds. PRIORITY TARGETS: ANYONE WITH GLOWING STAVES!"
Orders rippled through Dominion lines.
Beast Speakers became hunted.
The Twelve Unleashed
Vael watched through a crystal viewer. Saw Beast Speakers breaking bonds. Saw freed beasts turning on Dominion forces.
He calculated: At current rate, 1,000 beasts freed by noon. Unacceptable.
He turned to the caged platform behind him. Twelve massive shapes, each restrained with the Emperor's personal shackles—thicker, darker, pulsing with resonance that made the air itself hurt.
"Release the Kings. All twelve. Simultaneously."
An aide hesitated. "Sir, the Emperor's orders were reserve deployment only—"
"The reserve IS the battle. Release them."
Shackles disengaged. Not breaking—opening. The Kings were always meant to be deployed. This was the leash, not the cage.
The Twelve Kings stepped forward:
Already deployed: Ironhide Behemoth (north)
Sent north: Glacial Serpent (ice breath), Thornback Tortoise (mobile fortress), Stonefang Bear (seismic attacks)
Sent center: Tidecaller Leviathan (water manipulation), Venomspine Drake (poison clouds), Bonecrusher Ape (siege breaker)
Sent south: Emberclaw Panther (fire precision), Cindermane Lion (noble warrior), Bloodmoon Wolf (feral berserker)
Sent aerial: Tempest Hawk (wind blades), Razorwing Falcon (speed)
Each King moved out, shackles active but loose—controlled, not broken. They fought not from will, but from chains too strong to resist.
The odds, already impossible, became truly hopeless.
💖 Enjoying the story?
👉 Support me on Patreon: patreon.com/sa2quasar