"Stay dead!" James roared as he cleaved a ghoul clean in half, its torso flinging backward while the legs crumpled where they stood. He paused, glancing around the wall to see nothing but twitching limbs, severed heads, and black ichor smeared across the stonework. Ghoul remains littered the battlements like broken dolls, dismembered and discarded.
"Clear these damned things off the wall!" he bellowed, stepping over a twitching corpse. "We must not be hampered by their filth!"
As soldiers began shoving the mangled bodies over the edge, James continued his sweep across the wall, scanning the field below. The archers stood at the ready, bows drawn but unloosed. The catapults were momentarily still. Only a few stray thralls remained, stumbling through the mist easily dispatched by a final, well-aimed volley.
Then came the quiet.
Not peace. Not safety.
An eerie, heavy silence clung to the air like smoke after a fire. The soldiers didn't dare move. They watched, eyes fixed on the four ominous black spheres that had spawned the invasion. The orbs had neither shrunk nor dimmed. If anything, they pulsed with renewed vigor, stable and unwavering.
From within the spheres, more ghouls emerged but they did not charge. Instead, they walked in rigid formation, forming neat lines as they stepped away from the swirling dark energy. Then came another wave, this time of hooded figures wearing golden chains, each marked by an emblem of a bat carved from gold, its eyes twin rubies that glinted menacingly in the gloom.
"Well, would you look at that," Thorpe muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Cultists. Never a good omen."
As he spoke, two figures stepped from each sphere tall, regal in their stillness. Their eyes burned crimson, skin pale as moonlight.
"Vampires," Captain Kalrick muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his sword.
The battlefield shifted again. The cultists quickly formed into lines, their archers readying bows and drawing beads on the battlements. The ghouls began to move once more, this time flanking the cultists, surging toward the citadel's walls with a renewed, disciplined urgency. And behind them, like dark generals, the vampires stood motionless watching.
"Thorpe, what's the current status?" I asked, stepping beside him atop the wall, my boots scraping faintly against the stone. The sounds of battle faded for a moment as the soldiers around us turned, eyes widening in recognition.
"My lord… you're here," Thorpe said, nodding deeply. "The enemy has begun deploying both ghouls and cultists. And now, vampires have shown themselves. We believe it won't be long before they join the fray personally."
"So our primary objective remains to keep them from breaching the gate and reaching the walls' edge?"
"Correct, my lord. So far, John and Norman have reported no significant damage to the gate, and their positions remain strong."
"I see. But I doubt it's wise to let it escalate to the point where the gate even becomes a target," I replied, narrowing my eyes at the tide gathering below. "I'll take the field and begin thinning their numbers before they can overwhelm us."
Thorpe stiffened. "My lord, that's a reckless errand you place upon yourself. You're far too important to risk"
"Important or not," I interrupted, already drawing my sword, "I will not stand idle behind these walls while my people bleed for me. This is not the life I chose, but if I must live it, then I will do so with blade in hand."
"My lord," Thorpe said, his voice more firm, "we had developed a strategy one involving both yourself and Marquis Raven. We require your support, not your sacrifice. Please, allow us to execute the plan. We do not wish to spend this battle wondering if you've fallen beyond the walls."
I looked at him for a long moment. His concern was genuine. "Very well," I said at last, "but when the moment comes when the time is right call on me."
Without waiting for another word, I jetted forward in a flash, cleaving through a ghoul that had just scaled the edge. Its body split in two with a sickening crack before I kicked the remains clean off the battlement.
Thorpe raised his hand in salute. "Yes, my lord!"
And thus the night grew darker still, with death on the horizon and destiny approaching with every step of the enemy's advance.
Meanwhile, across the battlefield, behind a curtain of cultist archers and snarling ghouls, two figures stood unmoving. Cloaked in jet-black robes trimmed with gold, the taller of the two gazed across the blood-soaked field. His crimson eyes glowed like twin embers beneath his hood.
"He's here," the male vampire said softly not with fear, but with interest.
Beside him stood a pale woman whose skin gleamed like carved marble. Silver chains coiled around her arms like jewelry and shackles all at once. Her lips curled with distaste.
"The halfblood."
"No," the man corrected calmly. "The anomaly."
She clicked her tongue. "Whatever he is, it won't matter. He'll die today."
Her gaze drifted across the battlefield, watching as defenders cut down ghouls and catapults hurled burning spheres into their ranks. The cultists returned fire with arrows, claiming their own share of lives.
"Lord Ghestin commanded us to wipe this place clean," she continued, her voice dark with amusement. "They dared touch what was his. And they keep resisting costing him more resources. Don't you think it's time we ended this farce, Vahn?"
Her eyes crinkled into a wicked smile. Vahn, now matching her expression, stepped forward.
"Yes," he said. "Let's end this."
The pair began walking slowly toward the battlements.
"All units," Vahn commanded, his voice resonating unnaturally across the field.
"Begin the siege."
Across the battlefield, the eight vampires, two from each of the four summoning spheres, began to advance. None ran. They moved with deliberate, confident strides.
Back on the citadel wall, tension spiked.
As soon as the vampires advanced, the cultists ceased their arrow volleys, stowing their bows and drawing curved short swords instead. Then, they fell into step behind the vampire nobles.
Longbowmen on the wall quickly adjusted. They took aim and released a volley of arrows, but the vampires deflected them with ease, batting them aside with hands, blades, or mere flicks of blood force.
"Shit," James muttered. "Those aren't ordinary vampires. If they can brush off longbow shots like that…"
He turned toward Thorpe, who was already shouting orders:
"Archers! Do not engage the vampires! Only fire on Ghouls and Thralls from the Dark Rise!"
A chorus of "Yes, Commander!" echoed from the wall.
Thorpe turned his attention to the inner citadel.
"Norman! John! It's time. Open the gates."
The great gates of the citadel groaned as they swung open, and the battalions led by John and Norman began their march onto the plains.
Then, another voice entered the scene.
"Commander Thorpe," came the voice of Marquis Marcel Raven. "Commander Farling said you needed assistance."
Thorpe turned to him. "Yes, Marquis. Support Lord Kael. If a Higher Vampire shows itself, he'll need reinforcement."
Marcel's expression darkened. "That goes without question. These bastards are here because of me. Of course I'll…"
He froze mid-sentence. A sudden, chilling aura swept across the battlefield. All eyes turned to the Dark Rise spheres.
From two of the four spheres, figures emerged tall, regal, and utterly terrifying. The air itself grew heavy as their presence became clear.
They didn't move like the others.
They didn't need to.
"Higher Vampires…" Marcel breathed, the words falling like ice.