The world suddenly erupted in a crash of steel and mist.
The charge of the Mistwalkers swept across the plains of Noveria like a wave of shadow ready to engulf all light.
The ground shook as the first silhouettes emerged from the wall of black vapour, their bodies twisted, their limbs too long, their faces erased as if they had never truly belonged to the human race.
Some still wore fragments of human armour — deformed arm guards, helmets embedded in flesh and fused with the mist — as if these beings had been moulded from corpses recovered from ancient battles.
Their eyes were empty sockets, and the saliva dripping from their jaws hung like molten lead.
But despite this horrific sight, Mireille did not move.
She waited.
The air vibrated, saturated with dark magic. The screams echoed as they approached, distorted, shrill, tearing through the atmosphere with infernal cacophony. Some cries still contained traces of humanity — echoes of tortured voices, as if the Mistwalkers were screaming with multiple throats at once.
In a breath of blackish mist, pieces of flesh and fabric detached themselves from the living mass, fluttering like morbid butterflies before dissolving.
Behind Mireille, the army of the Kingdom of Velenisia held its breath, suspended between fragile hope and paralysing terror. The ground, already soaked from the previous day's rain, was stained with mud and blood, remnants of previous battles.
The soldiers exchanged panicked glances, some clenching their fists around their weapons, others vomiting uncontrollably.
The eyes of the creature in black armour suddenly lit up, two scarlet embers glowing with a morbid brilliance, as if ready to consume the world.
Mireille took a step forward.
***
The first wave of Mistwalkers reached the captain in a chaotic rush.
One of them, resembling a soldier but with arms as long as whips, attacked, lashing the air.
His cry sounded like a drowned gurgle, as if his lungs were filled with mud. The fingers of his left hand twisted and opened like pincers, and each movement left behind a black, sticky trail that clung to the ground and the soldiers' boots.
Mireille spun around, dodged by a hair's breadth, and severed his arm with a clean stroke.
The limb evaporated into a black mist before it even hit the ground. The remaining pieces of flesh stuck to the ground, soaking up mud and smoking slightly in the autumn cold.
Another leapt over the first, its deformed claws open, its jaw split into three sections that snapped at the air. Mireille, without looking up, plunged her dagger into its skull.
A wet crack echoed. The misty matter opened, briefly revealing a human face frozen in an eternal grimace before dissolving.
A few fragments of skull scattered on the mud, splattering the trousers of a nearby pikeman. The metallic taste of blood filled the air.
However, they were still coming in droves.
Some jumped and screamed, others crawled like insects, their limbs twisting backwards, sometimes breaking their own bodies with a sound like snapping branches before reforming in spasms.
The bodies intertwined, tore each other apart, and reassembled into unholy gargoyles that screamed in both anger and pain.
The ground had become a carpet of flesh and mud.
Mireille moved among them, like a shadow even sharper than they were. Her sword traced arcs in the mist, each stroke finishing off a silhouette before its form could reshape itself.
Where she struck, the mist tore apart, revealing for a moment a black carcass, like a petrified core, before it exploded into smoking fragments.
Behind her, the spearmen took a step forward to tighten the line.
"Hold your positions! Don't let any of them through!" shouted a lieutenant.
The spears fell upon the first creatures to reach them. Some were impaled, their bodies writhing around the metal tips like crucified snakes.
When the soldiers withdrew their weapons, shreds of black mist dripped from the wood, sometimes burning the skin of the unlucky ones who touched them.
A piercing scream rose as the torn arm of a Mistwalker clung to a spear, leaving shreds of flesh hanging like macabre flags.
The veterans held their ground, but the recruits trembled — some faltering under the pressure of the shadows. One young soldier lost his footing when a creature grabbed him. The black hand liquefied and sank into his cheek like burning mud.
The boy screamed, his eyes rolling back in their sockets before he collapsed backwards, his lips blackened and muddy.
"To the mages, now!"
A circle of light suddenly rose behind the front line, splitting into a multitude of luminous needles.
The points of light split the mist, and each explosion left behind tattered silhouettes — some dislocated, others literally torn in two before evaporating.
Black blood splattered the earth, and the smell of burnt flesh and metal hung in the air.
Some mages trembled, unable to maintain their concentration, and small flames sprang up around their bloodied hands.
But for every creature that dissipated, two more seemed to emerge from the darkness, with cries of despair and rage mingled together.
The corpses of fallen soldiers were swallowed by the mist, their limbs twisting into impossible shapes before joining the ranks of the Mistwalkers.
***
Amidst the carnage, Mireille advanced alone.
Her boots sometimes crushed immaterial remains: fragments of silhouettes that still tried to move before disappearing completely. Her sword, already covered in black marks, vibrated between her fingers, as if it wanted to break free from her control.
Every movement of the shadow around her sent shards of flesh and metal flying, while the mist continued to moan in a human-like manner.
However, her eyes never left the black silhouette.
The being advanced quietly, the corpses — both human and misty — falling apart as it approached. Its aura seemed to suck the light out of its surroundings, leaving soldiers in its wake shaking uncontrollably.
Splatters of black blood, thrown up by its footsteps, splashed the arms and faces of those who tried to get closer.
"You still seem just as... annoying.' Whispered the being, from behind the mist.
Mireille wiped the black blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. The liquid began to smoke slightly as it touched the air.
"I could say the same thing."
The being's laughter echoed. It was a sound that was at once shrill, cacophonous and deep. It sounded like steel bursting and being reconstituted.
In fact, hearing that laugh was like hearing the voice of steel personified.
"Come closer, Captain."
He brought his shadow spear down upon her.
The impact sent up a cloud of dust and a circle of scorched earth.
Fragments of bone — human bone — flew into the air, revealing that the ground itself was saturated with the bodies of past battles, some still partially intact.
The burning mist caught a soldier. His arm was torn clean off, thrown several metres away. He screamed, rolling on the ground covered in mud and blood, before other Mistwalkers engulfed him completely.
Mireille rolled to the ground and struck.
Her blade struck the black armour. There was a crackling sound—but it was her blade that suffered, not the creature.
The mist around them reacted to each blow, opening like living wounds, and sometimes black, clawed fingers tried to cling to the knight's boots or her cloak, leaving traces of thick blood.
"You cannot hurt me like this. You never will.' Said the being in black armour.
She drew her dagger.
"We'll see."
Mireille threw herself back into the assault.
The mist twisted around her, as if alive, clawing at her legs and arms, leaving burning marks on her skin with every touch.
The approaching Mistwalkers were distorted beyond comprehension.
Some had multiple heads, only one of which opened its mouth to let out a shrill scream that pierced the temples, while others had split torsos from which escaped a black, foul-smelling smoke, a mixture of blood and rotting flesh.
The splatters covered the soldiers' faces and metal, making them indistinguishable from the mist that surrounded them.
A sudden human scream made Mireille jump.
A young soldier, still intact a few seconds earlier, was seized by two Mistwalkers. The creatures grabbed him and, with a sharp crack, his spine bent in a direction impossible for a human body, before the body disintegrated into floating black fragments.
Blood spurted in dark geysers onto spears and boots, while shreds of flesh mingled with the mud, sliding down bodies and weapons.
The young recruit's scream echoed across the plain, tearing at the eardrums of anyone who dared to look.
However, despite their fear, the soldiers continued to advance.
Some spearmen, their hands trembling, brought their pikes down on the passing creatures, sometimes piercing limbs, sometimes the entire body.
Amidst the chaos, Mireille advanced, cutting through the mist with her sword and dagger. Her eyes searched again and again for the being in black armour.
Each impact with a creature sent pieces of body and mist flying, leaving behind trails of blackish blood and fragments of flesh.
Bone shards flew like shards of glass, sometimes striking her army comrades. Some soldiers screamed as they were hit by these projectiles, their limbs bloodied, some unable to continue fighting.
The creature in black armour then advanced towards the front line, and the mist contracted behind him, as if it wanted to swallow all light.
The corpses of the fallen Mistwalkers rose again, transformed by dark magic into more distorted shadows, with twisted limbs and faces that were no longer human.
The soldiers panicked as some human corpses were swallowed up by the mist and transformed into indistinct monsters, their glassy eyes and distorted screams howling through the wind.
"Your little soldiers are going to die. Do you think you can save them?" said the being, its metallic voice sharp as a blade.
Mireille clenched her jaw, blood running down her arms and face.
She was wounded.
Perfect!
The pain gave her fierce concentration. Every movement of her enemies was analysed, every opening exploited.
Suddenly, the mist behind the blackish being exploded, releasing a wave of shadow that engulfed about thirty soldiers on the front line.
Their screams were short but heart-wrenching, and their bodies were torn to pieces before the others could even react.
Limbs flew through the air, and the ground was stained black and red. The acrid smell of burnt flesh and twisted metal filled the air.
Mireille threw herself through the wave, her sword slicing through the air.
A Mistwalker tried to grab her, but she cut off his arm before he could touch her leg. The severed hand writhed for a fraction of a second like a worm, clawing at the ground and leaving trails of black blood.
Shreds of flesh flew around her, but she did not slow down.
Her dagger sliced through the mist, striking another opponent directly in the face. The impact burst the creature's head, turning it into a cloud of dark, screaming particles.
The black being stared at her, amused by her movements.
"You persist... it's fascinating."
"I'm stubborn." Mireille replied, breathless.
The blood on her arms and face had mixed with the mud, forming a macabre war mask.
"This fight... ends here." She continued.
The creature in black armour looked at her for a moment, its glowing eyes narrowing. Then it sneered.
"No. I don't think so."
The creature raised its shadow spear to strike from above. Taking a step back, Mireille placed her hand on the ground.
"Wh—?"
Suddenly, an explosion of white light burst forth.
The mist screamed, its steely voice piercing the distance.
The Mistwalkers were thrown backwards, some shattering on impact, their pieces scattering across the ground like a rain of black, viscous fragments.
The human corpses still present were touched by the light and burned to dust, leaving behind a smell of burnt flesh mixed with mud.
The being took a step back. Mireille raised her head, her eyes illuminated by the flash.
"I told you this fight ends here."
The dome of light burst at the same moment, throwing the mist backwards and causing the Mistwalkers to retreat, screaming. The howls of torn creatures, human cries, broken bones and torn-off arms flew through the air.
Some soldiers fell, struck by the debris.
The front line caught its breath, but around them, the ground was a bloody mess, a field of human corpses and black mist.
Speaking of black mist, it gradually dissipated, revealing what was happening at its centre.
The soldiers, stunned, watched as the silhouette of their captain appeared in the middle of the dissipating whirlwind.
She was standing.
Wounded.
...But standing.
The black being placed a hand on his helmet. A deep laugh, more sincere this time, echoed.
"Very well, Captain. You win, this time... just for a few minutes. No more."
Then he dissipated into the mist.
The Mistwalkers withdrew after him, leaving behind a battlefield littered with torn limbs, human corpses, and fragments of impossible creatures. Fragments of black flesh stuck to the mud and armour.
The plain was suddenly silent.
Mireille stood motionless, her breath short, her legs trembling, her vision blurred.
The soldiers, shocked, rushed over and gathered around her, some screaming for the wounded, others vomiting at the horror they had just witnessed.
Bodies, both human and Mistwalkers, lay intermingled on the ground. Clawed hands still emerged from the corpses before falling limply back down. Glassy eyes stared motionless at the sky.
Then Mireille fell to her knees.
"Captain!" shouted a soldier.
Dozens of voices rose in panic.
"Bring a healer!"
Mireille smiled weakly.
'Always so dramatic...'
Then her body gave way.
She collapsed to the ground, unconscious, while behind her, the wind lifted the mist.
The encounter had lasted only nine minutes in total, but the loss of life among the Velenisian army was considerable.
The battle of Noveria was over.
But the war was only just beginning.