The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Tlangthar. The city was alive, but there was an eerie stillness in the air, a tension that crackled like the moments before a storm. The War Council had spent weeks preparing for this night—Rhabut, the Kirat governor, would not live to see another dawn.
The assault team moved silently through the alleyways, their footfalls swallowed by the thickening dusk. Around them, layers of shamanistic enchantments coiled like unseen serpents, whispering of power repressed. Glyphs were carved into the earth, pulsing faintly with stored energy, waiting to be unleashed at just the right time. Their shamans bore armor woven of spells, not heavy plates of metal as among the Kirati forces, but light, flexible, and carrying inscribed wards which blurred their movements and dampened their presence. Every warrior wore on his back a totem of the bones of slaughtered beasts inscribed with forgotten hymns.
Inside of the strike team, Zakop stood like a rock, radiating power in his very aura. Pupi walked on his left; his staff gleamed with less than bright brightness, infused as it was by the very fabric of the earth itself. Chinzah was flexing fingers, and dagger at his belt hummed like a harp string ready to be strung. Mualza, Hwehwe, and Lianchhia made a circle, surveying the low-lit compound quarters of Rhabut, ready for the attack.
Inside, Rhabut reclined in his apartment, his jewelry shining in the candle-glow. His clothing was smoked from spiced wine and roasted meat and clung to the air as his own personal guard relaxed across from him, their weapons resting idly against their sides. He appeared content, utterly unaware of the storm which now approached.
Pupi gave a signal with his staff.
A pulse of energy rippled outward, igniting the carved glyphs. The air thickened as a web of paralyzing magic surged through the compound, seizing the Kirati guards mid-motion. Their enchanted armor flared in protest, but the spell was precise, designed to slip through the cracks of their defenses. For a fleeting moment, silence reigned.
Then the Xiaxoan warriors struck.
Zakop and Chinzah rushed first through the reinforced doors. Their weapons flashed under dim light. Chinzah's thunder-infused blade shot crackling through, opening a guard's arm with one swipe before slicing his throat. Blood sprayed on the walls as the man gurgled, his body convulsing.
Rhabut sprang upright, his goblet shattering to the floor as he flung out a hand. Golden runes flared in a circle about him, smashing the paralysis spell in a tiny radius. His personal guard burst forward, deadly enchantments coursing through the weapons of the elite of the Kirat Empire.
Mualza charged forward, his war hammer dripping with earth magic. He swung with brutal force, sending a Kirati soldier crashing into the wall, bones shattering on impact. Lianchhia followed in his wake, her hands wreathed in fire as she hurled a burning spear into another soldier's chest. The man shrieked, clawing at the molten wound before crumpling into a heap.
Rhabut roared, his voice booming from behind the enchantment that clothed his jewelry. "You dare defy the Empire?"
He shot out his hands, golden spears of compressed mana shooting out of his palms. Zakop dodged just in time, rolling to the side as the projectiles exploded stone where he'd stood just moments before. The heat singed his skin, but he didn't feel it.
"We defy tyrants," Zakop growled, pulling from his pouch a small vial that he smashed against his blade, laying a green luminescent liquid over it. The sword pulsed with corrosive energy, eating away at the gold aura protecting Rhabut.
Pupi stayed at the back, writing sigils in the air with his staff. "[Weaken]. [Curse of Sinlung]." His voice was calm, each word steeped in potency. A sickly haze spread over the battlefield, seeping into the lungs of the Kirati guards. Their movements slowed and their reactions muddled as they fell weakened by the spell.
Hwehwe and Mualza fought in tandem, their combined attacks a brutal symphony of wind and stone. Hwehwe's wind blades sliced through armor, cutting deep into exposed flesh, while Mualza's seismic strikes sent bodies flying. The air filled with screams, the sickening crunch of bones, and the crackling of magic.
Rhabut's shield buckled under Lianchhia's relentless assault. She hurled another fire spell, the heat warping the air. "[Molten Spires]!" she shouted, slamming her palm against the ground. Pillars of searing magma erupted beneath Rhabut's feet, forcing him to leap back. His shield flickered, and in that moment of vulnerability, Zakop struck.
The blade cut through the golden barrier, slicing deep into Rhabut's shoulder. He let out a guttural snarl, staggering back, blood soaking his robes.
"You are nothing," Rhabut spat, his voice thick with pain. "The Empire will swallow you whole."
With a final desperate move, he slammed his staff against the ground. "[Prison Eternal]. [Rule of the Empire]."
Golden chains burst forth from the floor, wrapping around Zakop and Mualza, pinning their limbs to the ground. Above them formed a orb of pulsating mana, its surface crackling with electric energy.
"Now!" Pupi cut through the confusion.
The remaining shamans turned on their totems. A wave of energy shot up at Rhabut, breaking the chains and ripping him away from his concentration. The spell collapse, the orb flaring for only a second before it broke apart into harmless sparks.
Zakop tore free, his blade striking with final fatalism.
"This ends here."
The blade plunged into Rhabut's chest, piercing his heart.
The Kirati governor gasped, his body convulsing. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met Zakop's one final moment before the light went out of them. He slumped forward, his golden adornments clashing with the blood-smeared floor.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The bodies of Rhabut's guards lay strewn across the chamber, blood pooling around them. The Xiaxoan warriors, though victorious, bore wounds of their own. Chinzah's arm was slick with blood, Lianchhia's fire had scorched her own clothing, and Mualza was limping from a deep cut across his thigh.
Pupi exhaled, gripping his staff for support. "It is done."
Zakop did not look at Rhabut's body. His gaze swept across the battlefield, taking in the cost of their victory.
Chinzah wiped his blade on a fallen soldier's cloak. "We've sent a message," he said, voice hoarse. "But the Empire will not let this stand."
Lianchhia nodded, flexing her burned fingers. "They will come for us."
Zakop looked into Pupi's eyes. "And then we prepare. We make them bleed for every step they take on Xiaxoan earth."
Mualza, still gasping, clutched his hammer, his fist tightening around the handle. "We do not kneel."
When daybreak finally lifted the darkness over Tlangthar, the city came alive with whispers of rebellion. The war had started in earnest.