"What the hell is that monstrosity...?" The aristocrats, inside their posh mansions overlooking the city, muttered in dismay at the sight of Hurdune, approaching the docks in the distance below. Fear entangled their hearts, as the victory of the church against crime seemed so in sight, yet now, uncertainty began to grow like a wildfire.
The commoners sheltered themselves in their homes while the gunshots rang out around them and the galloping of paladins upon horseback, ran amuck on the streets outside.
The prison had been overtaken, with churches having been set ablaze. The city was in a riot, with men being cut down without mercy by order members whilst gunshots flew about.
Paladins. Machines of war, able to wield heavy weapons and armor that no ordinary man would be able to muster due to their unique magic. Holy; a golden and bright magic that resembled light that boosted their moral with significance. With holy magic coursing through their veins, their strength was greatly enhanced, their stamina endless, and their wounds quick to recover. Even as the stray pellet pierced through their neck, if the paladin was quick to react in healing themselves, they would be easily be able to recover before the clutches of death take them. With little more than a hand over their gushing wound, comes a bright light, now a sealed wound with little more remains than the faintest of scars of young tissue, and the surrounding stain of blood.
"Interficite scelestos rebelles!" The paladin shouted at the top of his lungs, pointing out his blade toward the gunmen who were scattering like roaches.
The whole of Hurdune, in its unrelenting assail, approached the stretched docks of the Capricene. It did not slow in its approach as, he, wanted his arrival to be known. The ship and all of its weight, at its great speed, rammed into the piers, docks, and buildings, slowing only under the resistance of all that it crushed as it plunged forth. The city shook violently, cracks splitting the earth throughout the city for blocks. Glass shattered, stone crumpled, and buildings collapsed just from Hurdune's simple arrival. In the peace of the settling ship, the Fallenic Knights emerged, descending into the wreckage and destruction with blades drawn and shields at the ready. Among them, their one and only lord, who followed his soldiers into battle without fear.
There was no confrontation with words nor pause in their actions. Soldier recognized enemy, and thus, deaths were quick.
The paladins were caught off guard, and with their ranks decimated by the magnitude of the destruction that rippled throughout the lower half of the city.
The Fallenic Knights were swift footed, light stepped. They maneuvered through the wall climb of destruction with ease, unlike the paladins who struggled to maintain balance. Fallenic Knights who were designated as scouts, ran ahead in dispatching every enemy they could. They were spread out, but never too far from a comrade. The rest of his army maintained structure in marching, clearing rubble in helping citizens and even criminals armed with guns, knowing they were on the same side. They marched with banners in full view, black and embroidered with gold. This was not a war to be won, but a stage to be known.
Aleksandr was among the few platoons who inched their way deeper into the city. His platoon had come across a paladin who still had his wits about him, taking fend with his blade that was coated in an almost heavenly aura that was visible to the naked eye. A golden flame it could be described, yet slow to flicker and transparent like stained glass. It was a beautiful sight, the sight of holy magic. The paladin, standing by his lonesome, a man among men who would defend his beliefs with his own strength and wit. The Fallenic Knights respected him, seeing him for what he was; a true warrior. Regardless, his death would be merciless. His skill nullified by numbers as his knights drove their blades into his joints and reigned back his limbs. He was left unable to move, yet alive as his magic kept him so. The Fallenic Knights surrounded him, but opened a path for Aleksandr to deliver the final blow, which he would do with heavy breathing. Before the paladin who roared through his helmet, he gripped tightly his blade. One of the knights grabbed at the paladin's head, pulling his gaze back so that Aleksandr may drive his sword through his skull from the beneath of his jaw. The warrior's body would fall limp, and the knights would yank out their blades. Aleksandr's blade was still in the paladin's skull even as his lifeless body fell back, the sound of his body hitting the ground making the true weight of his armor known.
One of the knights, the one to hold back the paladin's head so that Aleksandr could kill him the way that he did, knelt down with his foot on the desecrated warrior's head, pulling out Aleksandr's blade and imparting onto him words he could hardly understand. "Do not let go of your weapon, boy. It is a disgrace to release an unsheathed blade, especially one offered by Lord Fall." With the handle to Aleksandr, the knight offered it back to him. "Hold tight your weapon. It will be an extension of your arm."
The lower western side of the city was a warzone, while the upper part of the city to the north was a balcony at which to look down at the fireworks. The grandest of the buildings in this district was the Grand Church of Capricene, an old castle belonging to the former ruling lord that was converted into a church when the Seratholics crusaded upon Highland. Much of it had been architecturally redesigned, leaving miniscule its former Highlandic apparel. Of all of Capricene, this should have been the most heavily fortified building, and yet, twice now had he crossed into enemy lines unnoticed. His steps were silent and he drew no attention, even as silver cladded paladins stampeded past him as he walked against the wall unnoticed, mistaken for nothing more than the darkness between the flickering candle lights.
Abruptly, a wooden door swung open before him, granting pause to his movements. Four maidens in white rushed out. Inside, instruments of all kinds decorated the room, with a young girl remaining behind in their presence.
The Archbishop in his haste, rushed down the second story hall with priests and paladins at his side They conversed with urgency in their own tongue, Serudinian, disrupted by the faint sound of a violin playing from the other side of the window. The melody of masterful humming rang through the halls of the palace, the source being the very center of the garden where pillared corridors surrounded. Even the fountain rippled ever so faintly from the sound.
The piece that was being played was calming to the ears, and yet, as the Archbishop looked down from second story hall and to the center of the garden, his face went pale in terror. He saw the black knight, the Dread Knight, sitting with a young girl, while playing the violin. In return, knowing exactly where the Archbishop was, Erik turned his head to look up at him.
The entirety of the palace was brought to an uproar, and soon, the gardens were stormed by dozens of paladins. No words were exchanged as they charged at him with their holy blades of silver, raised overhead. Heavily, they were brought down upon the sitting black knight, who maneuvered to the very edge of the blade that fell before his face, barely scraping the faintest edge of his armor. He halted his playing, taking the young girl up by the neck in threatening the paladins to halt their charge. They did, cursing him for his actions.
Erik slowly placed the instrument into her shaking hands, whispering into the girl's ears in his imperfect Serudinian. ("Play as I have shown you, and I will not feed you to my wargs.")
The woman, in tears, began to play as Erik let loose his grip and moved away. In that moment, the paladins continued their attack. A blade swung across before him. He stepped forward, his gauntlet scraping against the blade as he reached with his other hand to the paladin's helmet; a burst of unholy, azure flames, engulfing the inside of the paladin's suit of armor, cooking him alive.
The melody continued to echo from the garden, though no longer was the music as clear as glass and pleasant to the ear, but now shaky and rough from the girl's trembling hands. Her tears fell upon the instrument as she sobbed through the screams and metallic scraping.
A massacre, complete and utter chaos as black tendrils and thorns swung wildly like serrated blades. They tore through armor, shields, and weapons like paper, gutting men from the inside out as the shfi'nyl erupted from their veins and tissue. It was a whirlpool that erupted from around him, out from a casted shadow beneath their feet. It swallowed the valiant paladins whole, reaching out and searching for more to kill as it spread rapidly throughout the entire castle. It dug through the walls, the sound of glass shattered and wood cracking as it would burrow from beneath in piercing priests in single thrusts through their skulls. No one could escape, no one could fight back, even as they clasped their relics and grimoires in conjuring protective barriers, only for them to prove ineffective.
Though their bodies mangled and even their brains eviscerated, some continued to cling to life and hope, an testament to the will of a paladin Erik found.
"It is said that the lone paladin would be able to survive a lightning strike, cleanse even the plague, and smite the wicked for a hundred years without rest. So long as their faith is strong and they are cladded in holy silver. Truly, your magic is strange."
Among the butchered corpses, the Archbishop stood among the fallen bodies of the deceased or soon-to-be, legs lost and his body riddled with thorns. Like a vine, a strand of shfi'nyl had torn through his skull and out through his left eye, yet able he was to speak. "We... Possess no magic... We wield, the gift of light... Granted to us, by the Goddess... SERAPOLLIA!! YOU DEMON!! SHALL BE SMITTEN!!"
The grey sky above opened up at the sound of the Archbishop's undying cry, his pleads and faith, bringing about a thunderous blast of holy light upon the black knight who'd decimated their ranks. This ray of light, fell from the heavens, a heavy bolt of pure divinity, that proved to be nothing but a spark in an all encompassing darkness.
Flames spread like an explosion, igniting all throughout the castle, all at once. The unholy azure flames of his soul, consumed all. The castle was set ablaze, a blue flame that engulfed the entire residence, that could be seen from the city below. The fire would rise against the bolt of holy that rained down from above, a clash of two powerful states of mana that flashed a great light across the horizon. The sky would splinter and shake in the explosion midway between the earth and heavens, yet the bright golden light, was quick to be consumed by the unholy stain of blue. This impact would leave all speechless at the sight of such an event. His existence was becoming known, known to the mortals who would utter his name with uneasiness or praise, known to the source of the brightness who would fear the loss of their power.
Within the ashes of those who'd been reduced to cinders, flesh, bone, and all, he would walk through the silence and peace of this now graveyard, bringing down the architecture around him as he reigned back his shfi'nyl and flames. It was a beautiful sight as he raised himself up upon a platform of his own creation, maneuvering his form out from over the city in looking down at the ants below. His voice would be heard by all, a loud and domineering sound that could not be escaped by even the deaf.
"Hear me mortals. I, am Lord Fall. King of Innah'vadah, God of the Lost. I have slain the Archbishop and slaughtered his men. My army takes your city. My ship has taken your shores. I, have taken your land. This battle is over. This city is mine. I am both merciless and merciful, but I am not without choice. Worship me as you will, men and women of sound mind to see me as a worthy god, or, become nothing more than beasts to be put down. You are to be citizens of the great Fallenic Empire, or, forgotten."