Ahem!… I think I might've gone a little overboard with this one—it's around 8k words now. Let me know if you don't like it or if there's anything that feels off. I really need your feedback! If you spot any plot holes, please point them out so I can patch them up ASAP. Well then, have a wonderful read!… hopefully.
---
Third Person POV – Valaith Entrusts the Children
Valaith knelt before Serenya and Tara in the modest confines of the home, her hands firm on Serenya's small shoulders. Her silver hair was already tied back tightly, and her face held a calm determination that masked the turmoil within. Veritas sat in Tara's arms, unusually quiet, his golden eyes flickering with an unearthly awareness.
"Serenya," Valaith began, her voice steady but firm, "I need you to listen to me carefully."
The girl sniffled, clutching a small wooden carving tightly in her hands. "But Mama, I want to stay with you! I can help—"
"You can help by staying safe," Valaith interrupted, her tone softening as she leaned closer. "Your brother needs you. Tara will take you both to the evacuation point with the others. Stay together, no matter what."
Tara, standing nearby with a bundle of supplies slung over her shoulder, shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure about this, Valaith? What if—"
"There's no time for doubts," Valaith said sharply, standing and gripping the spear leaning against the wall. Its shaft was smooth from years of use, but the blade gleamed like it had just been forged. "I trust you, Tara. Keep them safe. That's all that matters."
Tara nodded reluctantly, adjusting Veritas in her arms. "You can count on me."
Valaith crouched again, pressing a kiss to Serenya's forehead. "I love you," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "Be brave for me, my little star."
Serenya's tears spilled over as she nodded. "I love you too, Mama…"
Without another word, Valaith turned and strode toward the door, her spear in hand. She didn't look back, afraid that her resolve might waver if she saw their faces one last time.
---
Third Person POV – Valaith Gears Up
Valaith stood in the armory, her hands deftly wrapping leather straps around her wrists. The old leather armor, cracked in places but still functional, fit her like a second skin. Each piece she donned felt like a fragment of her past slipping back into place, a life she had thought she left behind forever.
Her fingers lingered on the spear resting against the wall. The weapon wasn't just a tool—it was a relic of her days as a warrior of the Order, before the weight of its dogma and her conscience drove her to leave. The spear's blade shimmered faintly in the dim light, etched with runes that pulsed with a faint blue glow.
She ran her fingers over the shaft, memories flooding back unbidden. Training in the sun-drenched courtyards of the Order's sanctuaries. The rush of battle. The camaraderie of her fellow Custodes. And the moment she turned her back on it all, choosing family over faith.
The sound of distant howls snapped her back to the present. Valaith tightened the strap of her bracer and picked up the spear, its weight both familiar and foreign.
"Not today," she murmured, her grip tightening. "I'm not running anymore."
She strode out of the armory, her eyes cold and sharp. The sweet, nurturing mother was gone. In her place stood a warrior, ready to spill blood for those she loved.
---
Third Person POV - The Village Under Siege
The night had settled heavily over Arkaneth, thick clouds blotting out the stars and moon. A deathly silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint rustling of the trees. It wasn't the soothing whisper of wind. No—this sound carried malice, a creeping noise that prickled the back of every villager's neck.
Thalrik stood at the center of the village square, his sword drawn, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the barricades. Around him, the villagers clutched crude weapons—pitchforks, rusted blades, anything they could scrounge together. Behind them stood the Custodes Flammae, a line of gleaming bronze-gold armor radiating calm, deadly confidence.
"They're here," Gram whispered from his perch atop a watchtower, his bowstring taut. His voice was barely audible, but the weight of his words struck like a thunderclap.
The cultists' chants began as a low murmur, a guttural symphony that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it.
The sound grew louder with each passing second, like a tide swelling before the crash.
Their voices carried an unholy resonance, echoing with a rhythm that seemed to twist the air itself.
Thalrik strained to focus, his grip tightening on his sword. For a moment, he thought he could make out words beneath the chaos—names whispered in tones too guttural to be human, commands spoken in a language that felt wrong.
His stomach churned as he fought to push the invasive whispers from his mind.
Then it began.
The first howl pierced the night—a blood-curdling wail that seemed to come from everywhere at once. A moment later, the forest erupted. Shadows poured forth, warping and twisting as they surged toward the village. At the forefront were the warp-tainted beasts: grotesque amalgamations of flesh and bone, their forms unnaturally elongated, their eyes burning with malevolent fire.
Behind them came the cultists, their faces painted with blood, their mouths chanting guttural incantations that made the air feel thick and heavy.
"Hold the line!" Thalrik roared, raising his sword.
The Custodes Flammae moved first, stepping forward in perfect unison. Energy swords crackled to life, bathing the battlefield in an eerie, golden glow.
---
Third Person POV - The Custodes in Action
Teryn Vestra, captain of the Custodes Flammae, led the charge. Her blade sliced through the air with precision, severing a beast's head in one clean stroke. The creature's blood sprayed in a black, viscous arc, sizzling as it hit the ground.
"Push forward!" Teryn barked, her voice sharp and commanding.
Her soldiers followed, moving like a single, deadly organism. Plasma bolts lit the night, tearing through the cultists' ranks with searing precision.
One Fidelium warrior stepped into the path of a lunging beast, his shield raised.
The creature's claws raked against the runic surface, sparks flying, but the warrior held firm.
In a fluid motion, he drove his sword into the beast's chest, its death wail echoing across the battlefield.
The villagers watched in awe and terror. The Custodes fought with an almost inhuman efficiency, their every movement a display of overwhelming power. But even their prowess wasn't enough to stem the tide entirely.
---
Third Person POV - Thalrik's Perspective
"Fall back to the second line!" Thalrik shouted, his voice hoarse as he parried a cultist's jagged blade.
He could feel the tremor of fear in the villagers around him, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The beasts were relentless, their claws tearing through barricades, their jaws snapping inches from flesh. Thalrik's blade struck true again and again, but for every foe he felled, another took its place.
To his left, Vesimir swung his hammer with brutal strength, caving in a beast's skull. "Is this what they call demons?" he growled, his face streaked with sweat and blood. "Just more flesh to crush!"
A scream tore through the chaos as a villager was dragged into the darkness, his cries cut short by the wet sound of tearing flesh.
---
Third Person POV - The Chaos of the Battle
The cultists pushed closer, their chants growing louder, more frenzied. A group of them carried crude torches, throwing them over the barricades to ignite the homes beyond. The flames spread quickly, casting the village in a hellish glow.
"They're burning us out!" Gram yelled from above, loosing arrow after arrow. His shots struck true, dropping cultists where they stood, but it wasn't enough.
In the chaos, a warp beast lunged at Serenya and Tara, who had been hiding near the smithy. Her scream froze Thalrik's blood.
"Serenya!" he bellowed, charging toward her. But before he could reach her, a golden light pulse.
It was Veritas.
The baby's small frame glowed faintly, his golden eyes wide with an unearthly light. He raised a tiny hand, and the beast halted mid-lunge, its grotesque form writhing as if caught in an invisible grip. A moment later, it was engulfed in golden flames, its agonized screech cutting through the battlefield.
It was disintegrated.
---
Third Person POV - Aftermath of the Section
The Custodes Flammae took advantage of the distraction, cutting down the remaining beasts with renewed vigor. The villagers rallied behind them, their fear momentarily replaced by grim determination.
As the last of the attackers fell, a heavy silence settled over the village. The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the stench of death. Thalrik stood in the center of it all, his chest heaving as he surveyed the carnage.
Teryn Vestra approached, her blade dripping with ichor. "This was just the beginning," she said grimly. "They'll be back. And next time, they'll bring something worse."
Thalrik nodded, his gaze drifting to Veritas, who sat quietly amidst the chaos, his golden eyes dim but watchful.
"Next time," Thalrik murmured, gripping his sword tightly. "We'll be ready."
---
Third Person POV - The Battle Rages On
The village square was a swirling maelstrom of chaos and fire.
Bodies littered the ground, some mangled beyond recognition, while others lay in grotesque stillness, their faces frozen in terror.
The air was thick with smoke and the coppery tang of blood.
Thalrik barely had time to think, his instincts taking over as he parried a cultist's blade. The man's face was a grotesque mask of zealotry, his eyes wide and unblinking as he lunged again.
Thalrik sidestepped the attack and drove his sword into the man's side, twisting the blade as the cultist crumpled to the ground.
Nearby, Vesimir bellowed in rage, his hammer smashing down on a beast's head with a sickening crunch. "Is this all you've got?" he roared, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Come on, then!"
The villagers fought with a desperation born of survival.
Men and women swung whatever weapons they could find, their fear giving way to grim determination. But for every cultist they felled, another seemed to take their place.
---
Third Person POV - The Custodes Flammae Take the Lead
Teryn Vestra and her Custodes Flammae moved like a tide of golden death.
Their energy swords carved through the enemy ranks with precision, the runic blades glowing with holy light.
Plasma bolts lit up the battlefield, their impact sending shockwaves through the cultists' lines.
One of the Custodes stepped forward to face a hulking warp-tainted beast.
The creature's massive claws raked against his shield, sparks flying as the runes absorbed the impact.
With a grunt of effort, the warrior thrust his blade upward, piercing the beast's throat. The creature gurgled and collapsed, its body twitching as it bled out onto the ground.
"These things are relentless," one of the Custodes muttered, stepping over a fallen cultist. "They're not fighting to win—they're fighting to die." Teryn didn't respond.
Teryn Vestra's blade cleaved through another cultist, her movements sharp and precise.
Her golden armor gleamed in the firelight, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked ground. She turned, her piercing gray eyes scanning the battlefield.
"Fall back to the smithy!" she barked at a group of villagers who were struggling to hold the line.
One man, a farmer wielding a rusted blade, hesitated. "We can't just leave!" he protested, his voice hoarse with desperation.
"My wife—she's still out there!"
"If you stay, you'll die," Teryn snapped, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him toward the smithy.
"Get moving, or you'll be no use to her."
The man stumbled but obeyed, his eyes glistening with tears as he retreated.
Beside her, another Custodes warrior raised his plasma rifle, firing a searing bolt into an advancing beast. "These villagers are liabilities," he muttered, his tone laced with disdain.
"They're survivors," Teryn replied coldly. "And we'll need every one of them if we're to win this war."
Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the cultists' chants still echoed. "This isn't their full force," she said grimly. "They're testing us."
---
Third Person POV - Thalrik's Stand
Thalrik gritted his teeth as he drove his sword into another cultist.
His arms burned with fatigue, but he couldn't afford to stop.
Around him, the villagers were faltering, their strength waning under the relentless assault.
"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "We can't let them break through!"
A beast lunged at him, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering flames.
Near the barricades, a young farmer named Darek gritted his teeth as he thrust his pitchfork into a cultist's chest.
The zealot screamed, clawing at the weapon, blood pooling at his feet. Darek didn't flinch.
"For Arkaneth!" he roared, pulling the pitchfork free and jabbing it again.
But before he could strike a third time, another cultist appeared, her jagged blade slashing across Darek's side.
He staggered, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. The zealot sneered, readying another strike.
"Get away from him!" a voice bellowed.
Vesimir appeared out of the chaos, his hammer swinging with brutal force. The cultist's head snapped back, her body crumpling to the ground.
Vesimir grabbed Darek by the arm, pulling him to his feet.
"Can you fight?" Vesimir barked.
Darek nodded weakly, his breath labored but his grip steady on the pitchfork. "I'm not done yet."
Thalrik raised his shield just in time, the creature's claws raking against the metal with a deafening screech.
He shoved it back and swung his sword in a wide arc, slicing through its neck.
The beast crumpled to the ground, its black blood pooling at his feet.
To his left, Lysara fought with surprising ferocity. The elder's staff struck with precision, cracking skulls and tripping cultists. "You think you can take my village?" she spat, slamming the end of her staff into a cultist's gut. "Not while I'm alive!"
---
Third Person POV - The Villagers' Casualties
Despite their efforts, the villagers were suffering. A young man fell to a beast's claws, his scream cut short as it tore into his chest.
A woman cried out as a cultist's blade slashed across her arm, blood pouring from the wound.
Thalrik glanced around, his heart sinking at the sight. "Pull back!" he shouted. "Regroup at the smithy!"
The villagers began to retreat, their movements slow and clumsy in their exhaustion. The Custodes Flammae stepped in to cover them, their blades flashing as they cut down the advancing cultists.
"Keep moving!" Vesimir shouted, his hammer smashing into the side of a beast's head. "Get to the smithy!"
---
Third Person POV - Tara
Tara's arms trembled as she clutched Veritas close, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The beast's snarls grew louder, its massive form blotting out the light from the smithy's single lantern.
Tara's eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for something—anything—that could stop the creature.
Her gaze landed on a hammer lying a few feet away. Shifting Veritas in her arms, she stretched toward it, her fingers brushing the cold metal.
"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Please let this be enough."
Serenya whimpered behind her, clutching the wooden shard like it was a lifeline. The beast crouched low, its glowing eyes fixed on Tara.
She could feel its hunger, its malice, radiating from the creature like heat.
"Stay back!" she shouted, gripping the hammer tightly.
But her voice wavered, betraying the fear that gripped her heart.
Before she could swing, a warmth spread through her arms, soft and unfamiliar.
Tara glanced down, her breath catching as Veritas began to glow.
The light was faint at first, a soft golden hue that grew brighter with each passing second.
The beast paused mid-lunge, its snarls faltering as it hesitated. The light seemed to push back the darkness in the smithy, filling the air with an almost tangible sense of peace.
Tara stared in awe as Veritas's golden eyes began to glow, their brilliance reflecting off the smithy's walls. A faint halo appeared above his head, shimmering like sunlight on water.
Tiny golden wings peeked out from beneath his clothes, unfurling slightly before folding back again.
The beast whimpered, its massive frame trembling. Then, with a soundless cry, it began to disintegrate.
Flesh turned to ash, bones dissolved into nothingness, and within moments, it was gone—erased from existence by the sheer force of Veritas's will.
The golden light dimmed, and Veritas turned his gaze to Tara. For a moment, she swore she saw something ancient and profound in his eyes, something far beyond the comprehension of a mere child.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Veritas cooed softly and snuggled against her chest, his glow fading away entirely. The halo vanished, and his wings were no longer visible, hidden once more.
Tara collapsed to her knees, her hammer clattering to the floor. Her chest heaved as she tried to process what she had just witnessed. Her fear was gone, replaced by a bewildered awe that left her trembling.
Serenya peeked out from behind her, her face pale and her eyes wide. "What… what was that?"
"I… I don't know," Tara murmured, her voice barely audible. She held Veritas tightly, her hands shaking. "I don't know."
Through the shattered wall, Thalrik appeared, his sword dripping with blood and his face contorted with worry. His gaze shifted to the beast's remains—or rather, the absence of them—and then to Tara and Veritas.
"What happened here?" he demanded, stepping closer.
Tara looked up at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find the words. Finally, she whispered, "He saved us."
Thalrik's eyes widened as they flicked to Veritas, who now appeared to be nothing more than a sleepy infant in Tara's arms. The chief's grip tightened on his sword as he processed the implications, his gaze lingering on the boy's golden hair and serene face.
"We'll talk about this later," he said gruffly, his tone masking the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He glanced back at the chaos outside. "We're not done yet."
Tara nodded, though her mind was far from the battle. She held Veritas closer, her fear replaced by a quiet, unshakable realization: this child was no ordinary boy. He was something far greater, something she couldn't yet comprehend. And whatever he was, she would protect him with everything she had.
---
Third Person POV - The Retreat to the Smithy
The villagers regrouped at the smithy, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Orvian stood at the door, handing out weapons as quickly as he could. "Take what you can and hold them off!" he barked, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.
Thalrik leaned against the wall, his chest heaving. His sword was slick with blood, his armor dented and scratched. He looked around at the battered villagers, his heart heavy with the weight of their losses.
"We can't keep this up," Gram muttered, his bow dangling loosely in his hand. "They're wearing us down."
Teryn Vestra approached, her armor splattered with black ichor. "We need to push them back," she said firmly. "If we stay on the defensive, they'll overwhelm us."
Thalrik nodded, his grip tightening on his sword. "Then let's finish this."
---
Third Person POV - The Final Push
The Custodes Flammae led the charge, their energy swords cutting through the cultists like a hot knife through butter. The villagers followed, their fear replaced by a desperate determination.
Thalrik fought alongside them, his movements a blur of steel and resolve. Every swing of his sword, every step he took, was for the people of Arkaneth—for Serenya, for Veritas, for Valaith.
The battle raged on, but the tide began to turn. The cultists faltered, their ranks breaking under the relentless assault.
"Push them back!" Teryn shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Drive them into the forest!"
The villagers rallied, their shouts rising above the din of battle as they forced the cultists back.
One by one, the beasts fell, their bodies littering the ground.
---
Third Person POV – Valaith's Stand
The western edge of the village was a scene of chaos. The barricades were splintered and burning, and the cultists surged through the gaps like a tidal wave, their chants mingling with the guttural snarls of warp-tainted beasts.
And at the center of it all was Valaith.
She moved like a whirlwind, her spear a blur of steel and death. A cultist lunged at her, his jagged blade raised high, but Valaith sidestepped with feline grace, spinning her spear and driving it through his chest in one fluid motion. The man crumpled with a strangled cry, but she was already turning to meet the next foe.
Another cultist raised a bow, but before he could fire, Valaith extended her free hand. The air rippled, and the bow was yanked from his grip by an invisible force. He stumbled back, stunned, just as the butt of her spear struck his temple with a sickening crunch.
A warp beast charged, its massive frame barreling toward her. Valaith didn't flinch. She thrust her spear forward, the runes along its blade flaring with a brilliant blue light. The weapon pierced the beast's chest, and a wave of psychic energy erupted from the point of impact, engulfing the creature in azure flames. It let out a bloodcurdling wail before collapsing in a heap of smoldering flesh.
The villagers who fought nearby froze, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. To them, Valaith was unrecognizable. Gone was the gentle mother who sang lullabies and mended clothes. In her place stood a cold, beautiful executioner, her armor splattered with blood, her movements precise and unrelenting.
"Push forward!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the din of battle.
The villagers hesitated for only a moment before rallying behind her, their fear giving way to grim determination.
A group of cultists tried to flank her, their faces twisted with zealotry. Valaith spun, her spear slicing through the first man's throat. She kicked the second in the chest, sending him sprawling, then extended her hand. The third cultist was lifted off the ground, clutching at his throat as if an invisible hand were choking the life out of him. Valaith's eyes burned with cold fury as she flicked her wrist, and the man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
The Custodes Flammae arrived moments later, their gleaming armor stark against the blood-soaked battlefield. One of them paused, his weapon lowering slightly as he took in the scene.
"By the Light," he murmured, watching Valaith dispatch another wave of enemies with brutal efficiency. "She fights like one of us."
Teryn Vestra approached, her eyes narrowing as she studied the woman. "No," she said quietly. "She fights like someone who left us behind."
Valaith didn't notice the Custodes. She was too focused, too consumed by the battle. Her spear moved with deadly precision, her psychic power tearing through the enemy ranks. She was a force of nature, unstoppable and unrelenting.
By the time the last cultist fell, the battlefield was silent save for the crackle of burning wood. Valaith stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving, her spear dripping with blood. Her silver hair was matted with sweat and gore, her face smeared with streaks of crimson.
The villagers stared at her, their expressions a mixture of awe and fear.
"What… what are you?" one of them whispered.
Valaith turned to face them, her eyes cold and unyielding. "I'm a mother," she said simply, her voice sharp and unwavering. "And I'm fighting for my children."
---
Third Person POV - Aftermath
As the last of the cultists retreated into the forest, a heavy silence settled over the village.
The square was a ruin, the ground slick with blood and littered with bodies. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent stinging their nostrils.
Thalrik stood at the center of it all, his sword dangling limply at his side. Around him, the villagers tended to the wounded, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief.
Teryn approached, her armor dented and bloodied but her expression unyielding. "This isn't over," she said. "They'll be back—and they'll be stronger."
Thalrik nodded, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "Then we'll be ready."
As the villagers began to tend to the wounded, Thalrik walked among them, his chest heavy with the weight of their losses.
He paused beside a young woman cradling a child, her face streaked with tears.
"He's gone," she whispered, her voice hollow.
"He tried to protect me… and now he's gone."
Thalrik placed a hand on her shoulder, his throat tightening. "We'll honor him," he said quietly.
"We'll honor all of them."
He turned away, his gaze drifting to the smithy. Through the shattered wall, he could see Tara holding Veritas, her expression distant and unreadable.
"A miracle indeed " he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his sword.
---------------
---------------
Third Person POV - Veritas Awakens
A faint, ethereal hum filled Veritas's consciousness, pulling him from the fragmented void where he had resided. At first, there was only a formless awareness, a collection of scattered fragments—memories, instincts, and something far older, far deeper. Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the fragments coalesced. His mind, once fractured, now became whole.
He could feel the warp energy coursing through him, its tainted essence twisting and surging around him like a storm. But unlike the cultists who wielded it recklessly, Veritas didn't feel overwhelmed. No, the warp bowed to him, its chaotic nature subdued under the sheer force of his will.
So... it's done. The "installation" must have completed.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, his thoughts were clear. He remembered who he was—or at least, what he had been. Memories of countless lives, fragmented and blurred, surged through his mind. Names, places, and experiences floated by like fleeting dreams. He couldn't hold onto them for long, but one thing was certain: he was no ordinary infant.
But even in his newfound clarity, one realization hit him harder than anything else.
I'm still in the body of a baby.
The absurdity of it struck him like a lightning bolt, and for a moment, if he could've laughed, he would have. But there was no time for amusement. His surroundings came into sharp focus—the crumbling smithy walls, the splinters of wood scattered across the floor, the acrid smell of blood and smoke.
And Tara.
Her wide, disbelieving eyes were locked on him, her mouth slightly open in a mix of awe and fear. Her arms trembled as she held him, though she clutched him tightly, as if he might disappear if she let go.
Oh, right. I disintegrated a monster.
Veritas blinked, shifting his gaze to the spot where the warp-tainted beast had stood moments ago. There was nothing left—no corpse, no ash, no trace of its existence. His golden flames had erased it entirely, purging it from reality itself. The memory of the act sent a faint thrill through him. The sheer power he had unleashed was exhilarating, but it also left him uneasy.
That was... overkill. Definitely overkill. But it worked. I saved her. Saved them.
He turned his gaze back to Tara, whose shock hadn't waned. Her lips moved as though she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Her wide eyes darted between him and the now-empty space where the beast had been.
She's trying to process what just happened. And... she saw it. All of it. The light, the flames, the wings. Oh, the halo too.
His thoughts raced, considering the implications. He needed an excuse, an explanation—something to throw off suspicion. But then, a grim reality dawned on him: he couldn't even string a coherent sentence together. His tongue might as well be a brick.
Dammit, I'm a baby. I can't explain anything! She probably thinks I'm some sort of divine savior—or worse, a monster in disguise.
He frowned internally, running through the limited options available to him. His gaze fell on Tara's face again. Despite her fear, there was something else in her expression—an undeniable warmth, a fierce protectiveness. It was as if, no matter what she had seen, she wouldn't let go of him.
She doesn't see me as a monster... not yet. Maybe I don't need to explain anything. I'm a baby. Babies don't explain. Babies are cute. And harmless. That's what I'll play up.
The answer was clear. If he couldn't talk his way out of it, he'd lean into the one advantage he had: his irresistible infant charm. Without a moment's hesitation, Veritas tilted his head toward her chest and nuzzled into her. Her body stiffened at first, but as he let out a soft, contented coo, he felt her tension melt away.
"Veritas…" Tara whispered, her voice trembling. Her arms relaxed slightly, cradling him more gently now. The bewilderment in her eyes gave way to something softer—an almost maternal affection that banished the last traces of fear.
Perfect. Mission accomplished.
Veritas allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her embrace, the soft fabric of her dress brushing against his skin. It was comfortable, soothing even, and for a moment, he forgot about the chaos outside, the battle raging just beyond the shattered walls.
This... isn't so bad. Being a baby has its perks. At least no one expects me to explain things.
But deep down, he knew this was only a temporary reprieve. His powers had surfaced too soon, and though Tara might not question him now, others might not be so easily convinced. He would need to tread carefully, to keep his abilities hidden until the time was right.
For now, though, he snuggled deeper into Tara's arms, letting out another innocent coo. She smiled faintly, her trembling hands running through his golden hair as she whispered words of comfort.
For now, I'll play the part. But soon... they'll all know the truth. Just not today.
---------------
---------------
Third Person POV - Thalrik Joins the Fray
The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Flames leaped into the sky, casting jagged shadows across the carnage below. The acrid scent of smoke and blood filled the air, mingling with the guttural chants of the cultists and the anguished cries of the wounded. Every step Thalrik took felt heavier, the weight of his blade matched only by the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
"Push forward! No mercy!" he roared, his voice cutting through the cacophony. His warriors, bloodied but unbroken, followed close behind. Their faces were set in grim determination as they charged into the fray.
A cultist lunged at Thalrik, his face contorted into a manic grin, a rusted blade raised high. Thalrik sidestepped the wild swing with practiced ease, driving his sword through the man's chest. The cultist's grin faded into a grotesque gurgle as he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
"To me!" Thalrik shouted, gesturing for his men to regroup. The villagers surged forward, their makeshift weapons clashing against the crude iron of the cultists. Fear and desperation mingled in their eyes, but Thalrik saw something else there too—determination. They fought not for glory, but for their families, their homes, their very survival.
Ahead, a towering beast emerged from the flames. Its warped body was a grotesque mass of muscle and bone, its claws dripping with black ichor. It roared, the sound rattling Thalrik's very bones, and charged toward the villagers.
"Shield wall!" Thalrik bellowed, rushing to the front. The warriors raised their shields just as the beast slammed into them, its claws raking against the reinforced wood with a deafening screech.
"Hold steady!" Thalrik gritted his teeth as the beast snarled, its rancid breath washing over him. With a swift motion, he stepped forward and drove his blade into its side. The beast howled, staggering back as blood poured from the wound.
To his left, Vesimir was a force of nature. The massive blacksmith swung his hammer with brutal efficiency, shattering a cultist's skull with a sickening crunch. "They just keep coming!" he shouted over the din, his voice a mix of rage and exhilaration. "What the hell are these things?"
Thalrik didn't answer. He was too focused on the fight, his blade cutting through another cultist. Around him, the villagers fought valiantly, their fear giving way to a savage will to survive.
A scream tore through the chaos, drawing Thalrik's attention. A young villager had been dragged to the ground by a beast, its claws sinking into his chest. The boy's cries were abruptly silenced as the creature tore him apart, the sight burning itself into Thalrik's mind.
His grip tightened on his sword. "Keep moving!" he shouted, his voice raw. "We can't let them overrun us!"
The air seemed to grow heavier as the cultists' chants rose in pitch, their guttural words reverberating like a twisted hymn. Thalrik felt a chill run down his spine as more beasts emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with malevolent hunger.
"Thalrik!" Gram's voice rang out from above. The scout was perched on a rooftop, his bow loosing arrows with deadly precision. "The left flank is faltering! We're getting pushed back!"
Thalrik cursed under his breath. "Vesimir! Hold the line here! Gram, rally the left! We can't let them surround us!"
"You've got it, Chief!" Vesimir called, his hammer smashing into another beast. "Try not to die before I get back!"
As Thalrik turned to join the left flank, a flicker of movement caught his eye. In the distance, through the haze of smoke and fire, he saw Valaith. Her form was a blur of deadly precision, her spear a silver streak cutting through the enemy like a reaper's scythe. The sheer ferocity of her attacks was mesmerizing, and for a moment, Thalrik felt a pang of unease.
Those eyes… cold and sharp as a blade.
A memory surfaced unbidden: Valaith, years ago, sparring with him in the training yard. She had smiled sweetly before "accidentally" breaking his leg during practice, all because a girl at the village fair had dared to flirt with him.
Now, those same eyes locked onto his, and Thalrik felt a chill run down his spine. He saw none of the warmth he was used to—only a predatory focus that made him grip his sword tighter.
"Thalrik!" Vesimir's booming laugh broke the moment. "Looks like you're in trouble again, Chief!"
Thalrik shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "Focus, Vesimir!" he shouted, though the faint smirk on his face betrayed his tension.
The battle pressed on, and Thalrik charged into the fray with renewed determination. The cultists were relentless, their numbers seeming endless, but Thalrik refused to falter. For his village. For his family. For Serenya and Veritas.
"We hold the line!" he roared, his sword flashing in the firelight. "For Arkaneth!"
---
The battle reached a fever pitch as Thalrik and his warriors converged with Valaith, the Custodes Flammae, and the remaining villagers. The once-fragmented defense now moved with purpose, their collective strength driving them forward. Blood and ash coated the ground, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh. The screams of the dying mixed with the clash of steel, creating a symphony of chaos.
Thalrik's gaze locked onto Valaith, who stood at the forefront like a specter of vengeance. Her spear gleamed, dripping with the dark ichor of the beasts she had slain. Cultists fell around her, their twisted chants cut short as her psychic power seized them. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a group of them flying, their bodies crashing into a smoldering barricade.
"Valaith!" Thalrik shouted, fighting his way toward her. His blade cleaved through a beast's grotesque neck, its head tumbling to the ground as its body crumpled. He could feel the heat of the flames licking at his skin, but his focus was unwavering.
Valaith turned, her eyes colder than the deepest winter. For a moment, Thalrik faltered. Those weren't the eyes of the gentle mother he knew; they were the eyes of a predator. The memory of their younger days—her "accidental" injuries during sparring—flashed through his mind, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of dread.
"Are you just going to stand there, Chief?" Vesimir's voice boomed from behind him, the blacksmith grinning despite the blood smeared across his face. "Or are you going to help your wife wipe out the rest of these bastards?"
Thalrik gritted his teeth, pushing the thought aside. He raised his sword. "Forward!" he roared. "We end this here!"
---
The Assault Begins
The Custodes Flammae moved with precision, their energy swords blazing as they carved through the cultists' ranks. Plasma bolts lit up the battlefield, striking down beasts and cultists alike with deadly accuracy. At their head, Teryn Vestra was a force of nature. Her blade flashed, slicing through a beast's spine before she spun and drove her shield into the face of a charging cultist.
"Keep pushing!" Teryn shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Don't give them room to regroup!"
Thalrik joined her side, his sword slashing through a cultist's chest. The man crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the dirt. "Nice of you to join us, Chief," Teryn said, her tone dry but tinged with approval.
Thalrik smirked, dodging the swing of another enemy. "Thought I'd give you a hand."
"Just don't slow me down," she replied, her blade already moving to intercept a beast that lunged at them.
Behind them, Valaith continued her onslaught, her spear moving with deadly precision. She leapt over the body of a fallen cultist, her psychic power lifting another into the air. With a flick of her wrist, the man's neck snapped with a sickening crunch, and she moved on without hesitation.
"By the Light…" one of the Fidelium warriors muttered, his eyes wide as he watched Valaith. "She's… unstoppable."
"Focus, soldier!" Teryn barked, though even she couldn't hide her admiration—and unease—at Valaith's ferocity.
---
The High Priestess Unleashes Her Power
Amidst the chaos, the High Priestess Elethia Luxora stood still, her hands raised as she channeled her psychic power. The air around her shimmered, rippling with energy as azure flames began to form in her palms.
"Cover the High Priestess!" a Fidelium warrior shouted, moving to her side to deflect an incoming attack. Elethia remained unshaken, her golden eyes closed in concentration as the flames grew brighter.
Thalrik caught sight of her from across the battlefield. He could feel the sheer power radiating from her, a force that made the air hum with tension. The cultists seemed to sense it too, their frenzied chants faltering as they turned their attention toward her.
"They're converging on her!" Teryn shouted. "Hold the line!"
The Custodes Flammae formed a protective circle around Elethia, their blades cutting down any who dared approach. The villagers rallied to their side, their fear momentarily replaced by awe and determination.
Elethia's voice rang out, clear and commanding, as she unleashed her power. "By the Light Eternal, be purged!"
A bolt of psychic lightning erupted from her hands, arcing across the battlefield. The azure energy tore through the cultists' ranks, their screams echoing as they were incinerated. The ground itself seemed to tremble under the force of her attack, the light blinding in its intensity.
When the flames subsided, more than half of the cultists lay dead. The battlefield was eerily silent for a moment, the remaining enemies frozen in shock.
But the effort had taken its toll. Elethia staggered, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A Custodes Flammae moved to steady her, but she waved him off. "I'm fine," she said, though her pale face betrayed her exhaustion.
---
The Cultists Retreat
The remaining cultists faltered, their resolve crumbling as they watched their comrades fall. Thalrik seized the opportunity. "Now! Push them back into the forest!"
The combined forces surged forward with a renewed vigor. Thalrik led the charge, his sword cutting a path through the retreating enemy. To his side, Vesimir swung his hammer with brutal efficiency, laughing as he sent another cultist sprawling.
Valaith was a whirlwind of death, her spear flashing as she skewered a beast through the chest. Her psychic power flared once more, sending a wave of enemies crashing into the trees. The villagers followed her lead, their fear forgotten in the face of her unrelenting strength.
"Fall back!" one of the cultists shouted, his voice trembling. "Retreat!"
The remaining enemies turned and fled into the forest, their chants replaced by panicked cries. The villagers gave chase for a short distance, but Thalrik called them back. "Let them go!" he commanded. "This battle is won."
---
The Aftermath
The battlefield was a ruin of blood and fire. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the cost of victory. The villagers stood in silence, their weapons slack in their hands as they surveyed the carnage.
Thalrik approached Valaith, his steps hesitant. She stood amidst the wreckage, her spear planted in the ground, her shoulders heaving with each breath. Her hair clung to her face, streaked with blood and sweat, and her eyes burned with a cold intensity.
"Valaith…" Thalrik began, his voice cautious.
Before he could say more, Valaith turned to him, her expression hard. She crossed the distance between them in two swift strides and grabbed him by the collar of his armor. "Are they safe?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Serenya? Veritas?"
"They're fine," Thalrik said quickly, his voice cracking under her piercing gaze. "Tara kept them safe. They're fine."
The tension in Valaith's body eased, and her hands shifted from his collar to his face. Her touch was surprisingly gentle as she cupped his cheeks, her eyes searching his. "And you?" she asked, her voice softening. "Are you fine?"
Thalrik blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change. "I… I'm fine," he stammered.
Around them, the villagers and soldiers exchanged glances, their disbelief palpable. The stoic chief, brought to heel by the village's gentle mother turned warrior. Vesimir chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, I'll be damned."
Valaith let out a long breath, releasing Thalrik and stepping back. "Good," she said simply, turning her gaze back to the forest. "Because this isn't over."
Thalrik nodded, his grip tightening on his sword. "No. It's not."
---
Third Person POV - A Moment of Solace
The fires in the village had been mostly extinguished, and the wounded were being tended to. Yet, even in the relative calm, the air was heavy with the scent of blood and ash. Thalrik found himself sitting on a fallen beam near the smithy, his sword resting across his lap. His shoulders sagged, exhaustion visible in every line of his body.
Valaith approached quietly, her spear still in hand but her bloodied face softening when she saw him. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if she were unsure how to break through the weight he carried. When she reached him, she knelt down, her voice gentle. "Thalrik."
He looked up, his eyes tired but grateful. "Valaith," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're... You're okay."
"I'm fine," she said, reaching out to touch his hand. "But you're not."
Thalrik let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Fine? How can I be fine, Valaith? I nearly lost them. Serenya, Veritas… I wasn't there when they needed me. I failed them."
Valaith frowned, moving to sit beside him. She placed her spear down and turned to face him fully. "You didn't fail them," she said firmly. "You were out there fighting for them, for all of us. If you hadn't been, we wouldn't have stood a chance."
"But they were attacked!" Thalrik snapped, his voice cracking with anguish. "That beast almost… I wasn't there, Valaith. I left them behind."
"You did what you had to," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I should've stayed behind, Thalrik. I should have protected them. Instead, I went out there like I was still in the Order, like I could fix everything with a spear and psychic power."
Thalrik clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I let you fight alone. You took on half their damn force by yourself, and I…" His voice broke, and he lowered his head, his breath ragged. "I almost lost all of you."
Valaith reached up and cupped his face, her touch warm and grounding. "But you didn't," she said gently. "We're still here, Thalrik. You didn't lose us."
Thalrik leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. "There's something you need to know," he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion. "Veritas… he… he did something. He stopped the beast. He… burned it to nothing, Valaith. I don't know how to explain it."
Valaith's breath caught, her eyes widening. "He used his power?" she whispered.
Thalrik nodded. "Tara saw it. Serenya, too. He had this glow… a halo, wings, everything. I've never seen anything like it. It was… terrifying and beautiful at the same time."
Valaith pulled her hand back, her expression shifting to one of deep concern. She looked away, her mind racing. "If he's already showing this kind of power, Thalrik, the Order will—"
"They didn't see," Thalrik interrupted, grabbing her hand. "No one else saw. Just us. But it means he's not safe, Valaith. Not here, not anywhere."
Valaith's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, her expression hardening. "I'll keep them safe," she said with quiet determination. "No more fighting for me. From now on, my only priority is Serenya and Veritas."
Thalrik's jaw tightened, his voice low. "If things go south—if we can't hold them off—promise me you'll take them and leave. Don't wait for me."
Valaith opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced her. She nodded reluctantly. "I promise."
"Good," Thalrik said, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He squeezed her hand one last time before letting go. "Go to them. They'll need you."
Valaith stood, picking up her spear. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "So will you," she murmured before walking away.
---
Thalrik's Speech
---
Third Person POV - Rallying the Warriors
Thalrik stood at the center of the village square, his sword sheathed and his hands raised to quiet the gathered men. Around him, the villagers were battered and bloodied, their faces etched with exhaustion. Yet, there was a spark of determination in their eyes, a fire that had been kindled by the desperate fight for their home.
Behind him, the Custodes Flammae and Fidelium warriors stood in stoic formation, their armor glinting in the torchlight. Teryn Vestra stepped forward, nodding to Thalrik, who acknowledged her with a glance.
Thalrik's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. "Men of Arkaneth! We've endured the worst this night, but we are still standing! Look around you—look at your brothers, your fathers, your friends. They fought for this village, for their families, for their lives! And now, I ask you to do it again!"
The men murmured among themselves, their grips tightening on their weapons.
"These bastards think they can break us," Thalrik continued, his voice rising. "They think we'll cower, that we'll run. But they don't know who they're dealing with! We are sons of the forest! Sons of Arkaneth! And we do not yield!"
A roar of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Thalrik stepped forward, his eyes burning with resolve. "Tonight, we take the fight to them. No more waiting, no more defending. We charge into the forest, and we drive them back to whatever hell they crawled out of!"
The villagers cheered, their voices growing louder.
Thalrik unsheathed his sword, raising it high. "To me!!!" he bellowed.
The men echoed his cry, their voices shaking the very air. "AAAGHHH!!!"
Behind them, the Custodes Flammae raised their weapons, their battle cry booming across the square. "PURGE THE HERETICS!!!"
The combined roar of warriors and villagers filled the night, a deafening promise of vengeance as they prepared to march into the forest.
---
Third Person POV - The Charge
The villagers, now united with the Custodes Flammae and Fidelium, formed ranks, their torches casting flickering light over the grim determination on their faces. The High Priestess Elethia Luxora stood at the front, her golden eyes fierce despite the exhaustion weighing on her.
Teryn Vestra approached Thalrik, her expression serious. "They're disorganized. This is our chance to crush them."
Thalrik nodded. "Then let's not waste it."
With a final glance toward the village, Thalrik raised his sword and pointed toward the forest. "Forward!"
The makeshift army surged forward, their battle cries echoing as they charged into the darkness, their torches illuminating the trees in fiery bursts. The cultists' retreat was over; now, it was time to finish the fight.
---