The squad rode in silence beneath the clear blue sky, their horses galloping across the desolate plains leading to the royal capital of Astria. The towering silhouette of the city's outer walls loomed in the distance, an imposing bastion standing against the darkness of the world beyond.
Modred sat atop his steed, eyes fixed forward, his crimson gaze cold and unwavering. Luna rode beside him, occasionally stealing glances, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Though Modred remained indifferent, she seemed content to be near him.
Ahead, Fenrick rode with an eerie calm, his sharp eyes scanning the road with predatory focus. Draven followed closely behind, his massive frame unshaken by the looming sense of unease. Xeraniel sat lazily on his horse, twirling a knife between his fingers, his usual cocky smirk firmly in place. Ana and Arden rode at the rear, their expressions unreadable beneath their cloaks.
The stillness was shattered by a bone-chilling chant that drifted from the shadows of the surrounding woods.
"In darkness, we serve…. In blood, we cleanse…"
The ground trembled as figures clad in black cloaks adorned with crimson markings emerged from the tree line, their eyes alight with eerie devotion. The cult of the Black Dawn, fanatical zealots who worship the gods with obsessive fervor, their devotion twisted into madness.
Before anyone could react, Fenrick dismounted in a blur, cracking his knuckles with a twisted smile. "I'll take care of this," he muttered, his voice laced with anticipation.
The cultists lunged forward, their mouths moving in an unsettling whisper of prayers as they charged with wild abandon. Fenrick welcomed them with open arms.
His movements were fluid, a perfect blend of brutality and precision. The first cultist lunged, blade aimed at his throat, but Fenrick sidestepped, catching the man's wrist and twisting with such force that the bone snapped through the skin in a grotesque display. Blood sprayed into the air and before the cultist could cream, Fenrick drove his fist through the man's chest, his hand emerging with slick gore.
Another came at him, but Fenrick spun low, his leg sweeping out with bone-shattering force, snapping the cultist's knees backward. The man collapsed in a heap, his screams cut short as Fenrick grabbed his face and slammed it into the earth, shattering his skull with a sickening crunch.
"You're too soft," Fenrick sneered, stepping over the bodies, his fists drenched in blood.
More cultists swarmed, chanting frantically as they fought with suicidal devotion, but Fenrick was an artist of carnage. He tore through them like a beast unleashed, his fists a blur of destruction. One grabbed his shoulder-Fenrick responded by twisting the man's head violently, the sick pop of his spine reverberating through the battlefield.
Organs spilled, bones snapped, and blood-soaked the earth, pointing to a grotesque mural of destruction.
Watching from horseback, Draven crossed his arms, his expression stoic. "He enjoys this too much," he muttered.
Xeraniel smirked. "Takes one to know one, huh?"
Fenrick's slaughter continued until the remaining cultists finally realized their hopelessness and fled into the forests, their broken whispers fading in the darkness.
Panting, Fenrick wiped his bloodied hands on his tunic, his grin never faltering. "They break too easily," he muttered, walking back to his horse as if nothing had happened.
Bran watched him with a smirk. "Remind me not to piss you off," he said before leading the squad forward.
The towering walls of Astria came into full view, gleaming under the moonlight. The kingdom was a marvel of both artistry and military might. At its center stood the Royal District, encased with massive white stone walls adorned with golden sigils. Beyond it, the Noble Quarter sprawled with grand estates and towering manors, while the Outer districts bustled with merchants and commoners, their lives untouched by the horrors outside.
Surrounding the kingdom was the Great Astria wall, an imposing behemoth of stone and steel, stretching across the kingdom's borders and standing as humanity's last defense against the Pantheon.
The squad rode through the towering gates, greeted by the sounds of the thriving city, the scent of red wine and spices wafting through the streets.
The blackened fortress of the Deicida loomed over the city, a massive bastion war-adorned with grotesque statues of slain gods. The central tower stretched into the sky, its jagged spires a grim reminder of mankind's defiance.
Standing nearby, Squad Two's headquarters was a pristine contrast of white marble and glowing arcane glyphs- a haven of scholars and strategists.
After securing their mounts, the squad was granted leave to explore the capital before the royal summons.
Luna wasted no time, dragging Modred by the hand through the bustling streets. The contrast between his cold indifference and her infectious excitement drew the attention of onlookers.
"They look adorable," an elderly vendor chuckled as Luna clung to Modred's arm with a bright blush.
Despite himself, a faint blush crept onto Modred's usually stoic face when Luna squeezed his hand and leaned closer. She giggled sweetly, her voice like music amidst the lively streets.
"You're blushing," she whispered teasingly.
"Quiet," he muttered, averting his gaze.
Luna giggled again, the sound light and sweet, drawing the attention of the townspeople. To them, it was a charming sight beautiful young woman, full of life, and a brooding warrior whose heart she seemed determined to thaw.
Modred sighed, looking away, but the faintest hint of a smile ghosted his lips.
Meanwhile, Xeraniel strolled through the marketplace, flinching a few trinkets from distracted merchants with practiced ease. Ana and Arden browsed a weaponsmith's stall, their sharp eyes scanning the craftsmanship in silence. Draven stood near the city's outer gate, watching the people with a calculating stare.