The main gate of Aethelgard, once a simple, formidable barrier of rune-etched stone, was now a stage. On either side, standing at perfect, rigid attention, were fifty warriors of the Aethelgard Phalanx. Their masterwork plate armor, polished to a muted sheen, bore the fresh scars of the recent battle—not hidden, but displayed like badges of honor. Their shields were locked, a wall of steel and conviction. The air around them hummed with the low-grade power of the Amber Aegis, a tangible pressure that spoke of immense, ordered magic.
Interspersed between them, and far more visually arresting for the newcomers, were the Minotaurs of the Vanguard. Hector stood at their head, Mountain-Sunder resting on the ground, his arms crossed over his colossal chest. His rune-scarred hide and calm, assessing gaze were a silent testament to a power that needed no bluster. The other Minotaurs, while less disciplined in their stance, radiated a raw, primal strength that made the very ground seem less stable.
Thorzen stood in the center of the gateway, flanked by Torac and Rosa. He wore no crown, no ceremonial armor. His simple, dark tunic and trousers did nothing to diminish the aura of absolute authority he projected. He was the mountain itself, and they were merely approaching its base.
The Imperial delegation was a study in contrast. Fifty knights in gleaming, gold-chased plate armor that seemed to reject the very concept of dirt or scratches. Their white surcoats, bearing the golden sun of the Imperium, were immaculate. They moved in perfect, synchronized lockstep, a machine of polished metal and human will. At their head rode three figures.
The central rider was a man in his late forties, his face a mask of patrician calm framed by short-cropped, steel-grey hair. He wore ornate, functional armor, a long white cloak draped over his shoulders. This was Legatus Valerius, a military governor of the Solar Imperium's eastern provinces.
To his left rode a woman in the deep blue robes of a master wizard, her hair the color of winter frost and her eyes holding the sharp, calculating light of someone who dissected the universe into its component parts. Magister Livilla, of the Argent Spire.
To his right was a man in more utilitarian, though still fine, travel leathers, a ledger and writing implements strapped to his belt. His eyes constantly scanned the walls, the troops, the very architecture, assessing, quantifying. Procurator Cassian, of the Imperial Treasury.
The column halted precisely twenty paces from the gate. The silence was profound, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the faint, rhythmic clinking of the Phalanx's armor as they breathed.
Legatus Valerius dismounted with a fluid, practiced grace. His two companions followed suit.
"I am Legatus Gaius Valerius of the Solar Imperium," his voice was clear, resonant, and devoid of warmth. "We come seeking the one known as Thorzen, master of this… settlement."
Thorzen took a single step forward. The movement drew every Imperial eye. "I am Thorzen. You are welcome within the walls of the Aethelgard Conclave, Legatus. Your journey was long. We have prepared quarters for you and your retinue."
The offer was polite, but the subtext was a challenge: Step inside my domain.
Valerius's eyes flickered over the Phalanx, lingered on Hector, and finally settled back on Thorzen. "Your hospitality is noted." He gestured, and a squad of ten knights detached themselves to tend to the horses. The remaining forty fell in behind the three leaders as they walked forward, passing between the rows of Aethelgard's warriors.
The Legatus did not flinch, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he crossed the threshold of the Amber Aegis. Magister Livilla, however, stopped dead, her head tilting as if listening to a complex symphony.
"Fascinating," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "The mana field… it's not a ward. It's an atmosphere. It's alive."
Procurator Cassian was already making notes on a small slate. "Construction quality: exceptional. Material sourcing: unknown. Magical integration: total. Economic valuation: incalculable."
Thorzen led them through the main thoroughfare. It was not a grand parade, but a calculated tour. They passed the roaring forges where Minotaur and Dwarf-inspired smiths worked alongside kobolds, hammering out blades that shimmered with nascent enchantments. They saw Centaur outriders practicing charges in a dedicated field, their hooves kicking up divots of earth. They saw Kenku scouts flitting between rooftops, their mimicry creating a strange, overlapping chorus of work orders and warnings.
The Imperials were silent, but their disciplined composure was beginning to crack under the weight of the impossible. This was not a savage horde. This was a functioning, advanced, multi-racial society that had sprung from the untamed wilds in a matter of months.
The tour concluded in the Great Hall. The War Memorial stood at one end, a silent, powerful presence. A table had been set with simple, hearty food and drink. Thorzen took his seat at the head, his Sentinels arrayed around him. The Imperial leaders sat opposite.
"The Solar Imperium extends its greetings to a new power in the west," Valerius began, the formal words sounding hollow in the face of what he had just witnessed. "Your rapid… consolidation… has not gone unnoticed. Your recent victory over an Ashen Horde field army was a significant event. The Imperium wishes to understand your intentions."
"Our intentions are simple, Legatus," Thorzen replied, his voice even. "To secure our existence. To grow. To build a society where strength has purpose beyond destruction."
"The Ashen Horde is a threat to all civilized peoples," Magister Livilla interjected, her eyes fixed on Thorzen as if trying to solve him. "Your methods are… unorthodox, but your results are undeniable. The Imperium could offer protection. An alliance against the common foe."
It was a classic opening move. Offer protection, establish dominance.
"We thank you for the offer," Thorzen said, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. "But the Aethelgard Conclave is not in need of protection. The Horde's army lies dead outside our walls. Our defenses, as you have sensed, are sufficient."
Procurator Cassian leaned forward. "Then perhaps we speak of trade. The Imperium has resources, markets, technologies you lack. Your metallurgy is impressive. Your integration of beast-folk is… logistically fascinating. There is much we could offer each other."
"Trade is a possibility," Thorzen conceded. "But it must be between equals. The Conclave is not a vassal state, nor a client kingdom. We are a sovereign nation."
Valerius's eyes hardened. "Sovereignty is not self-declared. It is recognized. The Western Wildlands have historically been under the Imperium's sphere of influence."
"Historically," Torac spoke for the first time, his voice a low growl, "the Imperium considered these lands uninhabitable and worthless. You ceded influence by neglect. We have claimed it by strength and will. The map has been redrawn."
The tension in the room spiked. The Imperial knights' hands drifted subtly toward their sword hilts. Hector shifted his weight, the floor groaning in protest.
It was then that a disturbance occurred. A young Minotaur from the Labyrinth Quarter, over-eager to see the shiny outsiders, barged into the hall, snorting in curiosity. One of the Imperial knights, nerves stretched taut, instinctively drew his blade halfway from its scabbard with a sharp shing of steel.
The reaction was instantaneous and terrifying.
Hector moved. He didn't roar, he didn't charge. He simply was there, standing between the young Minotaur and the knight. His hand was wrapped around the blade of the sword, stopping its draw completely. The enchanted Imperial steel screeched against his rune-hardened hide but did not cut him.
The hall froze.
Hector looked down at the knight, whose face was a mask of shock and fear. "In the Conclave," Hector said, his voice deceptively calm, "we do not draw weapons on children. You will sheathe your blade. Now."
He released the sword. The knight, trembling, slowly pushed it back into its scabbard.
Thorzen had not moved from his seat. He looked at Legatus Valerius. "Your knight's reflexes are sharp. But in a house of peace, they are a liability. I suggest you instruct your men on the difference between a frontier outpost and the hall of a peer."
The message was delivered with devastating clarity. Your soldier's instinct was to draw a blade on a child. My general stopped it with his bare hand. Know your place.
Valerius's face was pale. He gave a sharp, curt nod to his knight, who bowed stiffly and retreated.
"The… incident is regretted," Valerius said, the words tasting like ash. "It seems we have much to learn about the Conclave's… customs."
"The learning process can continue," Thorzen said, seamlessly reclaiming control of the conversation. "We are willing to discuss a treaty of mutual non-aggression and limited trade. We can share intelligence on the Ashen Horde. But any discussion of sovereignty, tribute, or subordination is closed."
The negotiations continued for another hour, but the power dynamic had been irrevocably set. The Imperium had come to assess a potential vassal and found a rival power. They agreed to a basic framework for future diplomatic and trade talks before retiring to their quarters, their pride bruised and their worldview shattered.
Later that night, in the War Room, the mood was grimly satisfied.
"They will not attack," Torac stated. "Not directly. But they will now see us as the primary long-term threat, even above the Horde. They will use trade, espionage, and political manipulation to try and weaken us."
"Then we must become unweakenable," Thorzen said. "The diplomatic front is secured for now. But our foundation is still narrow. Our elite are strong, but our overall level of power is stagnant. The Colosseum in the Void Realm provides experience, but the challenges are becoming predictable. We need greater threats. Stronger forms to assimilate. We need to push the boundaries of what our people can face."
He turned to the Mind Flayer, Xx'orth, who had been silently observing the negotiations from a shadowed corner. "Scholar. You have had access to Veldrak's Knowledge Seed and the lore of the Sylvan Dominion. Cross-reference everything. I need locations. Lairs of powerful, unique creatures within a month's travel of our borders. Beings whose capabilities would provide a significant leap in our understanding of combat, magic, or biology. Priority for creatures that are inherently hostile and cannot be integrated."
Xx'orth's tentacles writhed in what passed for excitement. "Query acknowledged, Archon. The data is extensive. The Western Wildlands are littered with such blights and wonders. I will compile a dossier of high-value targets by dawn."
"And I," Fan added, her psionic senses still tingling from the Magister's probing. "I felt the Magister's power. It was… deep. Our magical corps is strong, but it lacks the sheer destructive potential of a dedicated Imperial battle-mage. We need to assimilate a creature of pure, raw arcane power. Something that can shatter legions, not just individuals."
Thorzen nodded. "The objectives are clear. Strengthen the chain by forging stronger links. We will use the Colosseum not just for training, but as a testing ground for new assimilated abilities against the most dangerous foes we can find. We will go hunting."
Three Days Later - The Void Realm Colosseum
The air in the colossal arena thrummed with newly channeled power. Thorzen stood in the center, his Sentinels arrayed around him. Before them, hovering over the sand, were three new Life Seeds, pulsating with violent, captive potential. Xx'orth's dossier had yielded immediate results.
"The first," Thorzen announced, his voice echoing. "From the Crystalfall Caverns to the north. A being of elemental earth and lightning."
He activated the first Seed. The form that coalesced was a horror of geologic fury. It stood twelve feet tall, its body a jagged amalgamation of obsidian and crystalline quartz. Crackling arcs of blue lightning danced between its crystalline protrusions. It had four powerful arms ending in stone-crushing fists, and a single, blazing core of sapphire light in its chest.
[Assimilated Entity: Rime-Tusk Megalith]
An elemental predator that hunts by causing localized earthquakes and firing shards of electrified crystal. Its core generates a permanent storm front.
"Begin the simulation," Thorzen commanded. "Level 20 threat. Mixed combatants."
The arena shimmered, and two dozen phantom Ashen Horde legionnaires appeared, charging the creature.
The Megalith didn't charge. It stomped a foot.
[Seismic Slam].
A wave of force rippled out, throwing the first rank of phantoms into the air. Before they landed, it raised two of its arms.
[Lightning Javelin].
Bolts of solidified lightning shot forth, piercing through armor and flesh with explosive force. Then it swung its other two arms, hurling a volley of [Shard Storm], razor-sharp crystal fragments that shredded anything they touched.
It was a area-denial weapon given form.
"Excellent," Thorzen noted. "A perfect tool for breaking formations. Next."
The second Seed glowed. This form was sleeker, more sinister. It was a large, panther-like creature, but its fur was the color of a deep twilight, and it seemed to drink the light around it. Its eyes were pools of liquid shadow, and its claws left faint, smoking rents in the air itself.
[Assimilated Entity: Umbral Prowler]
A native predator of the twilight continent of Umbral. It phases in and out of the Material Plane, its claws capable of severing magical bonds and inflicting wounds that resist healing.
"Simulation: Anti-Mage engagement."
A group of phantom spellcasters appeared, barriers of force and fire springing up around them.
The Umbral Prowler vanished. It didn't turn invisible; it simply ceased to be there. A moment later, it reappeared inside a mage's barrier. Its claws, trailing void-stuff, passed through the mage's robes and flesh as if they weren't there. The mage screamed, a wound appearing on its chest that bled black energy. The Prowler phased out again before the other mages could react, appearing behind another to repeat the process. It was a mage-killer, an assassin that treated magical defenses as mere suggestions.
"Perfect," Fan whispered, her eyes alight. "Its phasing ability is a form of spatial manipulation I've never seen. We must study it."
"Finally," Thorzen said, activating the third and largest Seed. "From the volcanic fissures on the border of Drakkenfall."
The creature that formed was a dragon-kin, but unlike any natural dragon. It was a Wyrm, a lesser dragon, but its scales were the color of cooling magma, and its eyes burned with a savage, unintelligent fire. Acid dripped from its fangs, sizzling on the sand. Its wings were tattered, suggesting it was more at home in tunnels and caverns.
[Assimilated Entity: Venom-Maw Wyrm]
A brutish, flightless dragon-kin that spews a corrosive, sticky venom and possesses immense physical strength. Its blood is highly toxic.
"Simulation: Heavy Assault."
A phantasmal unit of fifty heavily armored knights, similar to the Imperial guard, materialized in a shield wall.
The Venom-Maw didn't bother with tactics. It charged, a living battering ram. It ignored the spears that glanced off its scales, opened its maw, and unleashed a torrent of [Corrosive Spit]. The greenish-yellow liquid washed over the front ranks, and their armor and flesh dissolved in seconds, the screams cut short. It then crashed into the dissolving line, its tail and claws tearing apart what was left. It was pure, unadulterated destruction.
As the last phantom fell, Thorzen looked at his Sentinels. The new forms had been tested. Their power was undeniable.
"These are the first of the new generation," he declared. "Their patterns will be available for the Colosseum's training regimes. Our warriors will learn to fight alongside, and against, such power. The XP gain will be exponential. But these are merely A-tier threats. Xx'orth's dossier speaks of S-tier targets. A Hydra in the southern swamps. A Beholder in the deep Under-realms. A Golem of living magma in the Firepeak Mountains."
He assimilated the three Life Seeds back into himself, the knowledge of their forms and abilities now a permanent part of his arsenal, ready to be deployed in the next true battle or used to create a new, powerful Sentinel should the need arise.
"The Imperium measures its strength in legions and centuries. The Horde, in brutality and numbers. We will measure ours in the quality of the monsters we have mastered. We will not just build an army. We will build a pantheon of war, and we will be its chief gods."
He looked around the Colosseum, at the faces of his generals, his killers, his scholars.
"The hunting season," he said, a cold fire in his eyes, "is now open."