Elizabeth sensed the tremor long before the crusaders even suspected her presence. When the reports from the Duchy reached her hands—along with the divine orders to eliminate Lusian—her heart refused to remain silent. For centuries, she had obeyed rituals and gods, serving as a disposable weapon. This time, however, everything was different. Her desire was not to obey. Her desire was to find him—and no one, not even the world itself, would stop her.
The palace lay behind her, empty and silent. Her chains had shattered the night she awakened, and freedom burned in her chest like a black sun. Her hair drank in the light of dawn, and her gaze shone with the resolve of someone who accepted no limits. She knew what she had to do: draw the enemy's attention and carve a path toward the Duchy before Lusian could be reached by the crusaders.
From the forest's edge, her demonic aura spread like a dark mantle. Thousands of creatures felt the call: savage beasts, fire-wraiths, and living shadows answered, bound to her will. Without hesitation, Elizabeth unleashed her power upon the crusader army encamped outside the Duchy.
The assault came like a black tide. The creatures shattered lines, crushing shields, tearing through armor, ripping screams of terror from the soldiers. Arrows and spears were hurled blindly—some struck lesser monsters, but most vanished into the darkness. Every movement of Elizabeth dictated death with lethal precision, though she remained unseen—a whisper that permeated everything.
A young crusader fell beneath a spectral wolf; another barely raised his shield before it splintered along his arm. Resistance was brief. Those who survived fled, dragging bodies and weapons, while mist and shadow devoured their order. Morale broke faster than their ranks.
Elizabeth moved forward with silent, almost ceremonial steps, each one bringing her closer to Lusian. Her mind fixed on a single name, and that thought made her stronger. The city itself seemed to bow to her presence; shadows stretched and twisted, as if recognizing their mistress. Her smile—barely perceptible—was lethal: no one would see her coming, but all would feel the consequences.
"Lusian…" she whispered among the trees. "I will find you."
Chaos reached its peak: mud stained with blood, screams tangled with roars, banners torn away, bodies shattered. Elizabeth watched from afar, summoning more monsters with little more than a thought. Each strike, each death, tightened her control, and the tide seemed unstoppable.
When at last confusion and slaughter settled, the battlefield had become a canvas of defeat: scattered crusaders, open wounds, corpses swallowed by the mist. The crusade had suffered its harshest blow yet. Serene, Elizabeth vanished into the shadows, leaving behind the echo of her victory—and the certainty that her single objective remained unchanged:
Lusian.