With a booming laugh, shapes formed behind Hecarim. As the veil of gloom parted, Darryl caught sight of riders emerging from the darkness. Though he could clearly hear the thunder of hooves at full gallop and the clamor of plate armor grinding against itself, the formation of horses was eerily still.
They looked like a painting, captured mid-charge and frozen in that exact moment. Like Hecarim, they were clad in black iron plates etched with age and war, and an evil, ghostly light burned within their eyes.
At the front rode a banner man, carrying a pennant that hung unnaturally still, even as the fabric produced the audible thump of something beating against the air. A moment later, a horn blower rode forth, his lipless mouth locked around the instrument. The horn sounded, raw and hollow, and the attack was declared.
Hecarim moved slowly as the ruined riders of the Iron Order surged past him, their charge breaking the stillness like a tidal wave.
"Hahaha! Let us battle with all that we have!" he roared. "Slaughter them all!"
A heartbeat later, he charged after them.
Darryl felt his breath quicken as he stared at the mass of black iron bearing down on him and his friends. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath their advance. 'This means nothing,' he told himself. 'The captain's here, after all…'
The thought barely finished forming when something seized him by the scruff of his neck.
"Wha..."
"You go deal with the new guys," his captain said calmly.
Before Darryl could protest, the world lurched, and he found himself hurled through the air toward the oncoming tide of iron.
"Seriously!?" he screamed as the riders rushed closer, though, oddly enough, a grin tugged at his face. He struck the ground and vanished into it as if it were water.
A second later, the first line of the Black Iron Order stumbled. Horses and riders alike tripped as the earth betrayed them, collapsing into a chaotic tangle of limbs and armor at the front of the charge.
Darryl poked his head out of the ground beside them. The soil softened further at his command, swallowing half a dozen riders whole before hardening once more, leaving them trapped, immobilized, and struggling uselessly beneath the surface.
He vanished again, just as a large spear slammed into the ground with a dull thump where he had been moments before. A few feet away, Darryl burst out of the earth, emerging at the flank of the charging order of riders.
He took off immediately, running low to the ground, his short sword dragging behind him. As he moved, the earth responded, crusts of soil and stone tore free from the ground and clung to the blade as if drawn by an unseen force. The mass grew with every step, layering itself over the steel.
By the time he reached his target, the short sword was completely buried beneath packed earth. The surface smoothed and hardened in an instant, reshaping itself until Darryl was gripping a full greatsword of solid stone.
He swung without hesitation.
The impact was brutal. The weight of the blow tore cleanly through the rider's torso, severing him from the lower half of his horse-form and scattering black iron and fragments of earth across the ground.
The remaining riders wheeled around to face him.
Darryl straightened, resting the massive blade against his shoulder, a grin spreading across his face.
"Well?" he said. "Is that all you've got?"
---
Hecarim noted idly that his spectral knights' charge had been completely halted, by a boy, no less. 'That boy would make a great asset once he's ruined.'
He did not have time to dwell on the thought, however.
His front leg buckled as a counter struck his glaive mid-swing, the force shuddering through his armored frame. Black iron screeched as he was forced off balance.
Without hesitation, he dissolved into the mist.
He reappeared behind his opponent in a blur, already swinging his glaive with every ounce of power he possessed, the weapon howling as it cut through the air.
The strike missed.
A simple sidestep was all it took.
The world lurched, and Hecarim found himself flying for the second time that night.
'Who is this man!?' he roared internally as his body smashed through the wooden hull of one of the docked ships. Planks exploded outward, iron tearing through timber as he skidded across the interior before crashing through the far side.
He was barely on his feet when his opponent appeared above him, descending like a falling star.
The kick struck squarely.
Hecarim was driven straight through the remains of the ship and into the cold waters below, the impact sending a violent splash high into the air.
Once more, he vanished into the mist.
This time, he reappeared on the shoreline, hooves tearing into the sand as he broke into a full gallop, retreating down the beach with smoke and mist trailing behind him.
Mist boiled around the shoreline as Hecarim's retreat carved twin trenches through the sand. Each thunderous stride sent ripples through the beach, black vapor bleeding from his armor like a wounded spirit.
Hecarim skidded to a halt near the water's edge, hooves digging deep as he turned, glaive sweeping up into a guarded stance. The mist around him thickened, responding to his will, coiling and tightening like a storm being drawn inward.
"Enough games," he growled, voice grinding like rusted iron dragged across stone. "You will kneel, mortal. All wars end the same way, beneath my hooves."
Across from him, Asta rolled his shoulders once, sword resting casually against his back. His breathing was steady. Calm. Almost bored.
Behind him, the harbor burned.
Wrecked ships smoldered where Hecarim had been hurled through them.
The mist surged, and Hecarim screamed, not in rage, but in exaltation.
The ground behind him split as spectral riders clawed their way free once more, their forms half-formed, incomplete, but brimming with killing intent. Broken lances reassembled. Iron hooves burned green as they struck the sand.
"Witness despair!" Hecarim roared. "Witness war eternal!"
The riders charged.
They never reached Asta.
When he vanished, the air detonated.
A shockwave ripped outward from where Asta had been standing, sand erupting in a violent ring that flattened mist, shattered spectral riders, and sent chunks of stone and debris skipping across the shoreline.
Hecarim barely managed to raise his glaive before Asta reappeared directly in front of him.
He was holding a large great sword that pricked all of Hecarim's senses, but it was too late.
The impact crushed inward, buckling black iron like paper. Hecarim was launched backward, skimming across the water itself before crashing into the shallows with enough force to carve a trench through wet sand and stone.
He tried to vanish into the mist but found that he couldn't.
The mist was screaming.
Hecarim staggered upright, armor cracked, inner fire flaring violently as he dragged himself back into a fighting stance. His gaze locked onto Asta with something new burning behind it.
"You are not mortal," Hecarim hissed. "What are you?" He didn't take a step back, but his hooves inched ever slowly. 'What is going on? I cannot move through the mist anymore. Was it that sword? I must retreat. But how?'
Behind them, further inland, the earth erupted.
Darryl burst from the ground amid the Iron Order, his stone greatsword already mid-swing. Riders were torn apart, dragged under, crushed as the terrain itself turned against them. The once-coordinated charge had devolved into chaos, spectral knights flailing, sinking, and shattering under relentless pressure.
Fortunately, he could still direct the mist, even though he could no longer travel through it. And when his gaze drifted to the two women standing a few meters away from the boy battling his Iron Order, a slow grin crept across his helm.
Of the two, the younger was drowning in fear, her thoughts scattered and unguarded. Her mind was open.
All he had to do was bend the will of the mist toward them. "His" will.
The older woman stiffened, a subtle shift in posture betraying the instant she sensed something was wrong, but it was already too late. Ruination would not be denied.
Lost in the quiet satisfaction of his scheme, Hecarim suddenly gasped.
Something tore into him.
He looked down, disbelief freezing him in place as he saw a black sword buried deep in his chest. The blade drank in the surrounding mist, the green fire around it flickering violently as if being pulled apart.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
From the moment the man had entered the battlefield, Hecarim's instincts had screamed at him to avoid that sword. He had listened. He had dodged. He had retreated.
And now... Now it was inside him.
His body grew heavy. Sluggish. His strength bled away with every passing second.
"What… is…" His voice rasped, uneven. "What is… this?"
He watched in growing horror as the mist he commanded was dragged toward the blade, unraveling and vanishing as it was absorbed. Not dispersed. Not destroyed.
Consumed.
The man before him stepped closer. One hand reached out and gripped the edge of Hecarim's helm, forcing his head downward until their faces were level.
Dark eyes met the burning green fire within.
"How do I stop the mist?" the man asked calmly.
Hecarim stared at him, confusion warring with agony as something else, something deeper than mist, was torn from him and pulled into the sword. He laughed weakly, the sound cracked and hollow.
"Stop… the mist?" he chuckled through the pain. "You're a fool."
The sword drove deeper, and Hecarim let out a scream.
At the exact same moment, a more feminine shriek joined his scream.
Asta turned sharply, and Darryl did the same, already disengaging from his battle with the Iron Order as his attention snapped toward the sound.
Emilia stumbled back as Mira straightened.
She stood taller than before, her posture unnaturally rigid, her presence suddenly oppressive. Floating just above her forehead was a black crown formed of mist and shadow, its surface smooth and cold, marked by three jagged ridges.
When she spoke, it was not her voice alone.
The mist spoke with her.
"You cannot stop the darkness he has unleashed."
The ground around her began to bubble and writhe as if something beneath it were trying to claw its way free. Cracks spread rapidly, and thick roots burst upward, followed by twisting vines that erupted violently from the earth.
They thickened and grew, coiling and layering over one another as pumpkins of various sizes bloomed along their lengths, their surfaces splitting into grinning faces as green fire ignited within hollow eyes.
"Until our queen is returned," Mira continued, though near the end her voice faltered, replaced by a deeper, male tone that echoed unnaturally, as though another being was speaking through her, "all will be brought to ruin."
It took Emilia only a moment to understand what she was seeing.
The massive network of vines before her was shaping itself into a hand.
The ground trembled as the rest of the body was dragged free.
With a deafening crack, a colossal pumpkin tore itself from the earth, soil and stone cascading from its surface. Two massive eye holes burned with green fire, and a jagged, carved smile stretched across its face, revealing not flesh or seed within, but an endless, lightless abyss.
The enormous head was attached to an equally gigantic body formed from bark, roots, and thick, writhing vines. Smaller pumpkin heads dangled from its frame like grotesque ornaments, each one laughing with shrill, frenzied glee.
Hecarim let out a low chuckle. "You may want to save your friends."
Asta's expression darkened. "The next time we meet," he said coldly, "I'll release your soul from this world. Permanently."
Hecarim laughed, the sound rasping and hollow.
"The feeling is mutual."
The black sword was yanked free from his chest. Hecarim gasped as the pain surged through him, and then the man vanished.
Seizing the brief window he'd been given, Hecarim turned and broke into a gallop, hooves tearing across the ground as he fled in the opposite direction.
He had to escape.
He had to get away.