As the first rays of dawn painted the horizon, the camp roared to life.
Trumpets blared, and the soldiers formed into columns, their armor clinking like a symphony of steel. Fabian's massive carriage rolled forward, pulled by a team of equally massive warhorses, its wheels leaving deep grooves in the earth.
From his position near the middle of the ranks, Luca watched as the army began its march.
The earth trembled beneath the weight of thousands of boots, the rhythmic pounding a harbinger of destruction. He could feel the anticipation in the air, the collective resolve of men preparing for war.
But Luca's smile betrayed his true allegiance.
As the army moved, his lips curled into a grin, sharp and calculating. His thoughts drifted to the chaos that awaited, the inevitable downfall of the Saints Cult orchestrated by his hand.
'The end is near!'
***************
[Days Later]
