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Chapter 2: The Battle Of Ulfates
A Brother’s Loyalty I
~ 868 RE~
“2nd Season, 4th Moon, 2nd Week, 6th Day”
~ Southwestern Golgotha, Ulfates at Noon ~
“Imagine this,” Lord Guildred began, his deep voice filling the room as he painted a vivid picture for the men before him. “A cacophony of ‘Fire! Fire!’ echoes through the air, the town square descends into chaos as an unquenchable blaze consumes it. The bell towers in Ulfates will add their urgent tolling to the pandemonium, summoning the unsuspecting townspeople and soldiers to fight the fire with bucket after bucket of water.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then continued. “But their efforts will be in vain. The fire will continue to burn, intensify, spread, until it has devoured the entire town square. The inferno’s wrath will be visible from every corner of southern Golgotha, declaring its presence as a formidable black column of smoke.”
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an intense, predatory light as he delivered the crux of his plan. “And then, in the midst of the chaos, our dear Lord Bilk will emerge from his secure town hall. He’ll waddle over to the town square, curiosity drawing him to the spectacle. He prides himself on being a learned man, able to pick up on details others overlook. As his gaze scans the flames, we’ll see the realization dawn in his eyes.”
His voice dropped to a near whisper, filling the room with tension. “That’s when we strike…”
A cacophonous slam echoed through the room as Lord Bilk crashed his palm onto the cluttered table, scattering an array of papers. “What is this fire nonsense you insist on pestering me with?” Bilk grumbled, his tone as raw as a winter storm. The four uniformed soldiers, their faces a tableau of concern, were an unwelcome interruption in the cocoon of his paperwork-laden office.
“Blast it! Look at this mess!” He snarled, gesturing at the cascade of documents now littering his floor. “Is a simple fire so beyond your capabilities? Must I explain every triviality to you imbeciles?”
The soldier closest to him, a strapping blond Azurian, had the decency to look uncomfortable as he rubbed the back of his neck. “My lord, we’re doing our best, but this fire…it’s not natural.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Bilk returned to his papers. “I’m on the verge of saving the empire a fortune, and you lot come bothering me with this.” He coughed, a phlegmatic sound that did nothing to lessen his arrogance. “I doubt any of you have the brainpower to contribute to that. But do speak up if you’re not entirely useless.” Bilk’s sardonic gaze scanned the silent room. “Well? Cat got your tongues?”
“No, sir,” a soldier – distinguishable by the few blue feathers adorning his helmet – finally replied, his voice nearly swallowed by the tense silence.
“Exactly,” Bilk’s voice dripped with self-satisfied scorn. “The empire needs my brilliance, unlike you lot. I know I’m wasting my breath, but listen. Fewer links in chainmail equals substantial savings for our blacksmith guilds and the empire, enough to build a new airship within a century.” He paused, smirking at the baffled expressions mirrored in the men before him.
Clearing his throat, the captain finally found his voice. “Your financial insights are noteworthy, my Lord, but we urgently require your intellect to combat these fires.”
Bilk scoffed, rising from his creaky chair, his pot-bellied silhouette a stark contrast against the fading daylight seeping through his office windows. “Oh, how lost you’d all be without me,” he muttered. He skimmed a sheaf of paper, his attention already straying back to his precious proposal. “My brilliant plan will have to wait, it seems.”
“But, my Lord!” The captain implored, urgency underlining his tone. But his plea merely prompted an exasperated eye roll from the pompous noble.
“Ah, there it is!” Bilk interrupted, his fingers closing around a small metallic horn in his desk drawer. “Can’t tackle an emergency without this!” He waved the horn triumphantly, before heaving himself fully upright. His gaze raked over the hunched soldiers, a hint of irritation sparking in his eyes. “Well? Get moving, you dolts! I don’t have all day to waste on your ineptitude.”
Emerging from the city courtyard, Bilk strolled forth at a leisurely pace, unbothered by the urgency of the situation or the soldiers trailing behind him. As the monstrous flame came into view, spreading its fiery tendrils across the sky and causing aircrafts to alter their course, he muttered, “By the gods, that is quite the blaze. It won’t reach us, will it?” He cast a quick, uneasy glance back at his towering obsidian fortress before refocusing on the captain.
“It’s not a natural fire, sir. It won’t be extinguished,” a soldier murmured, his voice barely carrying over the growing commotion.
“It’s a fire from Maelstrum. It’s the devils’ work,” another chimed in, his voice trembling.
“Nonsense,” Bilk scoffed, but there was an undeniable edge to his voice now. As the flames crept nearer, panic-stricken citizens fled with their belongings, while soldiers hauled water carts through the chaotic streets. One cart hurtled past, nearly knocking Bilk off his feet. In its wake, a frantic man gave chase. Bilk’s anger flared anew as he pointed an accusatory finger at the poor soul. “Seize him! Toss him into the flames. The fool almost ran me over!”
“Sir, the fires continue to spread. Your orders?” the captain pleaded, desperate to redirect Bilk’s focus.
“First, I need to see this for myself,” Bilk retorted, his usual swagger diminished by a slight tremble. Though he would’ve blamed the heat, a cold knot of fear took root in his gut. A fire that wouldn’t extinguish? It was an enigma that bore the scent of the supernatural. As they ventured further towards the town square, the unnerving roar of the relentless flames only grew louder.
As Bilk beheld the monstrous fire, its pillars of smoke twisting skyward and dancing sparks illuminating the night, he was gripped by a sudden realization. He hissed the word “Phlogiston,” a material of uncontrolled fire, a brainchild of an inventive mind meant to power engines, but left unchecked, it became a catastrophe.
His eyes widened, and he screamed, “Phlogiston!” Snatching the horn at his side, he was about to blow into it when a wave of pain surged through him, knocking him to the cobblestones. The pungent smell of burnt flesh mingled with the acrid smoke, and a deafening scream echoed around him. It took him a moment to realize it was his own.
With a grimace, he inspected his hand, the sight of his blood-soaked palm bringing forth a sobering reality. “I’ve been shot.” Bilk staggered, hunched and limping, a wounded animal in retreat.
In the ensuing chaos, Bilk saw his men fighting not the fire, but each other. The aggressors, clad in grimy attire, their capes caked with mud and armor stained with blood, fought with a knightly prowess that stirred a chilling thought within Bilk. “Bandits? No, they fight like trained knights. Are these the Royal Azurian Knights?” he wondered aloud, fear threading his voice. “Who sanctioned this attack?” His plea hung unanswered in the smoke-laden air.
Amidst the relentless tumult of the battle, one figure drew his attention, a man arrayed in silver armor who towered above the rest. The armor was adorned with elaborate designs and the helm boasted a griffin’s head and two massive horns. With each swing of his shield, men were toppled, his azure cape flowing behind him like a tumultuous sea. As this figure moved with lethal grace, his gaze found Bilk’s, causing an icy shiver to trace down the latter’s spine.
It was in that precise moment Bilk identified his adversary, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. These were no mere Azurians, but the dreaded rebels led by none other than the legendary Lord Guildred. “How did the rebels breach the city guard?” Bilk muttered in disbelief, as he fumbled to blow the horn strung around his neck while continuing his unsteady retreat toward the safety of the town hall’s courtyard.
“Kill him! That man! Kill Guildred!” Bilk ordered, his finger trembling as he pointed at the fearsome knight. However, Guildred was a tempest, cutting down Bilk’s soldiers with swift, decisive strokes of his saber. He effortlessly parried an incoming sword, retaliated with a deadly swing, and slashed open the soldier’s stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground.
“Raa!” a soldier roared, launching himself at Guildred with a pike aimed straight for his throat. Anticipating the trajectory of the attack, Guildred deftly maneuvered his shield, directing the spearhead away from him. With a swift pirouette, he returned the strike, his blade sinking deep into the soldier’s abdomen, who collapsed on the ground, his entrails spilling out in a gruesome spectacle.
The heat of battle seared Guildred’s muscles, his armor slick with the blood of his enemies. He observed the chaos around him, seeing a comrade at the mercy of a soldier’s blade. Without a moment’s hesitation, his fingers gripped his arctavist, raising the barrel and unleashing a surge of pink energy that cleaved the soldier in half. His gaze then found Bilk again, the man’s fear palpable even at this distance. “Stop him!” Bilk wailed in desperation, but Guildred had tasted blood, and there would be no stopping him. Soldiers surged forward to protect Bilk, only to be cut down mercilessly by Guildred’s blade.
Guildred moved with purpose, his sword painting a brutal path towards Bilk. His progress was momentarily hindered by a hulking man armored more heavily than the others, his sheer size dominating the street. Undeterred, Guildred squared off against the titan, standing only half as tall. “Well… come get me,” he taunted, his voice echoing from beneath his helm.
The titan swung his two-handed blade at Guildred, who nimbly evaded the attack and retaliated, his saber cutting a vicious arc across the back of the titan’s neck. As the giant crumbled to the ground, another soldier struck at Guildred from behind. His armor took the brunt of the blow, the blade skittering harmlessly off. Seizing the opportunity, Guildred rolled forward, evading another strike, and with a swift spin and slash of his blade, he cleaved the soldier in half.
He was then engaged by another soldier, their blades dancing in a deadly ballet that was all too familiar to Guildred. Their footwork mirrored each other, each thrust and parry bringing them closer together. Guildred seized the soldier’s spear shaft, pulling himself closer to the man before striking him in the throat with his shield.
The rabble of Lord Bilk’s disoriented troops scattered and retreated in all directions, as the echoes of a losing battle drifted in the smoky air. Guildred, their commander, slowed his horse to a trot, allowing his foot soldiers to rally behind him. A cacophonous crash jolted him, drawing his gaze to one of his soldiers staggering back out of a nearby alleyway, his shield trembling with fear.
“Village Guard!” the soldier bellowed in alarm. Without a moment’s warning, three monstrous claws, each the size of an arm, punctured the air and slammed into his raised shield. The soldier was propelled backward as the claws ripped through his shield, their blue fleshy tendrils writhing like sea serpents. They retracted with startling speed, tearing the soldier’s arm from his shoulder and sending him flying. His screams resonated through Guildred’s helm as the earth beneath his feet trembled under the thunderous steps of an unseen monster.
A metallic monstrosity lumbered out from the shadowed depths of the alleyway and onto the cobblestone street. Guildred’s heart pounded against his breastplate as he assessed the creature. Its body bore a chilling resemblance to a crab’s carapace, rust-coloured and imposing. Three large, domed amber eyes rested atop the shell, lending it an eerily sentient aura. Its arms were grotesque parodies of a mastodon’s limbs, with three long, powerful claws on each. In one claw, the shield – with the dismembered arm still attached – dangled ominously, a macabre reminder of the soldier’s fate.
A nauseating wave of revulsion coursed through Guildred, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years. With a spine-chilling creak, the colossus shattered the shield, casting the shards aside. The one-armed soldier, his face a twisted mask of agony and anger, staggered to his feet. “You bastard! Take my arm!” he roared, charging at the beast with his sword held aloft.
Guildred watched with a sinking heart, his thoughts echoing, “Foolhardy boy.” The machine deflected the soldier’s sword with one mighty sweep, shattering the blade. Swiftly, it seized the man with its clawed hands, lifting him off the ground like a child’s ragdoll. A sickening symphony of snaps echoed as the soldier’s spine separated. Despite his iron-clad resolve, Guildred was forced to turn his head, averting his eyes from the gruesome spectacle.
The sight that greeted him when he finally dared to look again was one of sheer horror. The soldier was bisected, his body suspended in the air, a grotesque trail of entrails hanging between the two halves. The mutilated remains were discarded towards a group of soldiers, knocking them down like bowling pins. Guildred watched, frozen in shock, as the machine emitted a triumphant, mechanical crackle.
“Get yourself together, Guildred,” he told himself, rallying his courage. He lifted his shield, trying to ignore the pulsing fear that gnawed at his resolve. The mechanical behemoth cackled again, its multi-segmented leg unfurling in a stride that covered twice its body length. It lunged at Guildred, its claws scraping a thin layer off his shield. The near miss sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he sprang into action, dodging and weaving around the colossus.
Suddenly, the machine’s fist slammed into Guildred’s shield with the force of a battering ram, bringing him to his knees. The shield was nearly caved in, the top half pressing ominously against his face. His efforts to rise were thwarted by a subsequent attack. A loud, bone-jarring snap echoed through the air. Guildred let out a strangled cry as excruciating pain radiated from his shoulder, his arm going numb.
“My lord!” a soldier’s cry cut through the chaos. Another brave soul charged the monstrosity, brandishing a spear. He managed to scale the machine’s back, stabbing relentlessly at the creature’s carapace. The sound of metal scraping against the shell was deafening. The beast’s response was swift and brutal. It fired its claw, impaling the soldier and sending him crashing into a nearby brick building. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood seeping around him. The other soldiers could only watch in horror, their courage wavering in the face of the formidable enemy.
Seizing his moment, Guildred planted his feet wide, whispering a prayer to Giza, the god of warriors. He hurled his battered shield at the colossus, drawing its attention towards him as he drew his saber. On cue, the claws retracted and fired directly at him. With deft precision, Guildred sidestepped the attack and slashed at the exposed fleshy tethers. The beast’s acidic blood, baby blue and boiling, spurted from the wound, hissing as it melted through his armor. When a droplet landed on his exposed flesh, he screamed, the pain white-hot and relentless.
Caught off guard, Guildred was knocked back by the machine’s massive fist. He was sent crashing into a wall, the impact knocking the wind out of him. But Guildred was made of stern stuff. He landed on his knees, his sword lying tantalizingly out of reach. The machine lunged at him again, its clawed toes digging into the cobblestones. He rolled out of the way, barely avoiding being trampled.
His heart pounding, he lunged for his hidden knife, just as the creature’s foot came crashing down again. His fingers found the hilt, and with a primal cry, he plunged the blade into the machine’s ankle joint. The spray of acid blood was a painful victory. His armor writhed as it was eaten away, and he screamed, his voice raw and desperate.
Guildred staggered to his feet as the machine faltered. He clambered onto its back, his blade sinking into the beast’s hose-like tendons. Blue blood sprayed out in gushing fountains as the machine gave one final, deafening shriek before collapsing. Guildred’s chest heaved with exertion as he looked up at his men, his eyes reflecting the grim determination of a leader.
Lord Bilk sagged over his ornate mahogany desk, his regal garments soaking up the crimson tide that gushed from his stomach. The blood seeped into the plush carpet in splotches, the dark burgundy a macabre enhancement to the deep red fibers beneath him. “What do I do?” he whimpered, speaking into a complex metal box studded with numerous knobs and switches. Cable veins connected the box to an elaborate wall-mounted panel. “My lord, Ulfates is lost. Guildred’s men… his army… they’re within our walls. They’ve breached the city.”
A series of hoarse, wet coughs clawed their way out of Bilk’s throat, interrupting his plea for help. “I don’t know how much time I have. He’s coming… Guildred’s coming for me.”
Static murmured ominously from the other end of the line. “Has the tower fallen?” Bilk sobbed, his question interrupted by a chilling crash against the heavy wooden door sealing his sanctuary. Horror widened his eyes as an axe head bit into the wood, its blade winking ominously. Another strike. “Gods, protect me,” he pleaded into the silence. “Gods! Is there anyone? My guards, where are they? Have they abandoned me?”
Three more strikes, and the door splintered, collapsing into a ruin of broken wood. Guildred, a figure of dread, stood on the threshold, his dented armor smeared with the fresh blood of Bilk’s guards. Underneath the plate mail, alien muscle fibers oozed a sinister, inky liquid. His gaze fixed on the cowering Lord Bilk, his lips moved, muttering a name like a curse. “Volkmar! Volkmar! Volkmar!”
In a flash, Guildred lifted an arctavist rifle, pointing it unerringly at Lord Bilk. The trigger was pulled, and a burst of pink light crackled along the cables connecting the radio, severing communication in a fiery disruption.
Guildred closed the gap between them in two long strides. His hand shot out, fingers locking around Bilk’s throat with crushing force. “Where is the village guard’s horn, fat man?” His voice was a guttural growl, resonating with menacing authority. Bilk could feel the vice-like grip around his windpipe, his breath coming in shallow, terrified gasps. Desperate, he fumbled at his side, his trembling fingers closing around the horn. Guildred released him and Bilk collapsed onto the plush carpet.
“Good, now blow it.”
Bilk weakly raised the horn to his lips, the metallic taste of fear mingling with his strained breath. His cheeks puffed out to blow the horn when a paralyzing pain ripped through him. His eyes flew open in shock, catching the gleam of Guildred’s blade as it stabbed into him. As Guildred withdrew the knife, it returned with rapid intensity. Bilk felt an icy coldness seep into him, the room blurring as a leaden fog descended over his senses. All he felt was pain, all he saw was the cold, triumphant stare of Guildred.
The room was bathed in an eerie, sapphire glow, cast by countless LEDs studding the expanse of the room. An aged figure, steeped in shadow, stood vigil at a massive plate-glass window, his gaze ensnared by the sprawling cityscape unfurling below. A monstrous plume of smoke loomed, veiling the view, yet across the glass, an intricate three-dimensional model of the metropolis danced in brilliant illumination.
Perched upon an opulent throne that hovered a foot above the polished floor, the old man was ensconced in the sumptuous swathes of his Azurian cloaks. His gaze, as orange as a setting sun, remained fixed on the disturbing spectacle beyond, a faint “Hmmm” hummed in the air as he stroked his withered chin thoughtfully.
Two guards, adorned in regal blue robes, approached the silent figure, their heads bowed in deference. “Inform Grandor that Ulfates is now a puppet in the rebels’ hands,” he commanded, his voice a dispassionate whisper.
“Yes, my lord!” The guards replied, their voices echoing in synchronized obedience before they retreated from the chamber.
Alone again, the old man lifted a crystal glass of wine to his thin lips, the ruby liquid swirling gently. As he stared out at the smoky skyline, his fingers traced an unseen pattern in the air, conjuring a vivid hologram of the village guard locked in deadly combat with Guildred. Their figures clashed, weaving a dance of death, swords sparking and flashing with each brutal contact.
He froze the image, the violent ballet suspended mid-strike, and zoomed in on Guildred’s visage. “Guildred,” he muttered, his tone laced with an odd satisfaction. “I’ve found you at last.” His chuckle, dry and devoid of warmth, filled the chamber. “Soon, our little game of hide and seek will reach its inevitable end.”
One Moon Later
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