Part 4: Mors Manet

The sky above Torva had darkened, casting a sickly gray pallor over the battlefield. It felt as though even the heavens themselves had abandoned the world to the coming storm. The distant hum of Malum's ships resonated like a death knell, a constant reminder that war was no longer a distant threat—it was here at their gates.

The first wave of House Malum's soldiers charged, a tidal wave of fury and desperation crashing against the decayed walls of House Decus. Armed with pulse rifles and blades forged from the same Cibus-infused metal that powered their weapons, the Malum forces surged forward, their footsteps pounding the earth in perfect synchrony, like the march of inevitability.

"Steady!" King Decus' voice rang out through the chaos, his words carrying over the din of battle. He stood at the front lines, his own blade in hand, ready to defend the Imperium with every ounce of his strength. His eyes burned with the fire of a king who would not surrender his kingdom, not today, not ever.

Dorian, Erik, and the elite strike team were positioned along the outer walls of the citadel, their task clear—to hold the Malum soldiers at bay long enough for the kingdom's main forces to mount a counterattack. They were heavily outnumbered, but House Decus had one thing Malum didn't: familiarity with the land, and the will to survive.

The pulse rifles of House Malum let out a deafening crack as their jagged, Cibus-forged bullets flew, each one capable of punching through stone and metal with terrifying ease. The air itself seemed to distort with the force of the shots, and Dorian flinched as the first blast hit the stone wall just inches from his position.

"We can't hold them forever!" shouted one of the guards beside Dorian, his voice hoarse with fear.

"We don't need to hold them forever," Erik growled. "We need to make sure they bleed."

With a swift motion, Erik raised his modified blade, a weapon that had been repurposed from an old-world sword, the edge shimmering. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The Malum soldiers were getting closer now, their pulse rifles tracking their every movement, but Erik wasn't concerned. He'd fought in countless battles before. This one would be no different—except the stakes were higher.

Dorian tightened his grip around his own blade, the familiar weight reassuring him, grounding him in the present. He glanced over at Erik, whose calm demeanor was always a comforting presence in the heat of battle.

"Ready, Dorian?" Erik asked, his voice steely.

"Always," Dorian responded through clenched teeth.

The battlefront erupted as they launched themselves into the fray, moving with practiced precision. Dorian slashed through the air, his blade cutting down the first Malum soldier who had gotten too close. The man's pulse rifle fell to the ground as he crumpled, but another soldier was already on his heels, their jagged Cibus-infused bullets sparking off Dorian's shield as he advanced.

The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. For every soldier Dorian felled, two more took their place. And still, the pulse rifles thundered, each shot a testament to the brutality of Malum's might. The ground beneath their feet began to churn with the energy of battle. Smoke filled the air, and the stench of burning flesh and metal became unbearable. The light of the sun was barely a memory now, replaced by the flickering fire of explosions and the harsh glow of pulse rifle blasts.

House Decus fought back with everything they had—blades flashing, shields holding, soldiers cutting down Malum's forces one by one. But it was clear the Malum soldiers weren't just fighting to win—they were fighting to crush everything in their path. Every strike they made, every shot they fired, was infused with the brutal strength of House Malum's unforgiving will.

Hours passed, though it felt like days. The ground was littered with the fallen, their blood staining the earth and mixing with the broken shards of Cibus-infused weaponry. Dorian's muscles burned with the strain of constant movement. Sweat poured from his brow, mingling with the dust and smoke, but there was no time to rest.

Dorian tackles a Malum soldier down saving his comrade before being stabbed to death, he grabs the soldiers mask and rips it off... revealing the pale disturbing face of these men. Dorian scatters around the sand for his blade-grasping it he attempts to shove it down into the neck but suddenly the soldier grabs Dorian's hand and throws him to the ground beside him. The soldier walks toward his rifle grunting as suddenly Dorian's blade had met with the mans back.

Erik's voice cut through the haze of battle. "Dorian! We need to fall back to the secondary position—now!"

Dorian nodded, his chest heaving as he stood up breathing heavily, he hacked his way through another Malum soldier, the man's body falling to the side as he moved. The pulse rifles continued to tear through the walls of Decus, each shot leaving craters in the stone. The fortress, which had stood for centuries, was beginning to crumble under the weight of the Malum assault.

With a grunt of effort, Dorian pushed forward, his blade clashing against that of another Malum soldier, their weapons locking with a shrill screech. The soldier's pulse rifle swung around in an attempt to strike Dorian down, but he was faster. With a quick twist, Dorian disarmed the man, sending the rifle skidding across the dirt. Before the soldier could react, Dorian's blade cleaved through the air, slicing him down in a single fluid motion.

But there was no time to celebrate the victory. Another soldier was already charging toward him, pulse rifle raised. Dorian ducked, barely avoiding the deadly shot. He moved in close, dodging another blast, and swung his blade in a wide arc, catching the soldier's wrist and disarming him.

As the soldier stumbled back, Dorian heard the distinct whir of pulse rifle energy building up. A shot rang out, and Dorian barely had time to raise his shield before the force of the blast sent him crashing into a nearby stone pillar. Pain exploded through his body, but he fought to keep his focus. He could hear Erik's voice shouting his name from across the battlefield, but it was drowned out by the roar of gunfire and the screams of battle.

When Dorian pushed himself back to his feet, his shield was smoking from the blast, and his blade was slick with blood. He barely had time to register his surroundings before another wave of Malum soldiers poured through the breach in the wall, their rifles raised and their eyes burning with determination.

"This is it," Dorian muttered under his breath. "This is where we make our stand."

Just as the enemy closed in, Dorian felt the ground tremble beneath his feet again—the unmistakable sound of House Decus' war machines rumbling to life. The cavalry had arrived. The heavy artillery, powered by Cibus, fired from behind the walls, sending explosive rounds into the advancing Malum forces. The Malum soldiers scattered, but it was too late.

"Erik!" Dorian shouted, his voice barely audible above the cacophony of war. "We need to break their line—now!"

Erik, ever the strategist, nodded sharply. "With me!"

Together, they charged forward, cutting through the Malum forces with a newfound fury, their blades flashing in the smoke-filled air. The roar of pulse rifles had grown deafening, but their blades cut through the chaos like a beacon of hope. Every step they took was a struggle.

The battle raged on, the forces of Malum relentless in their assault. Every corner of the battlefield was chaos, and there was no time for Dorian to consider whether they could win. Victory was no longer certain—only survival. And with every pulse rifle shot, every swing of the blade, Dorian realized that House Decus would have to fight not just for their kingdom, but for the very future of Torva itself.

Hours later, as the dust began to settle and the smell of smoke filled the air, the battlefield remained a bloody tableau of destruction. The walls of House Decus were scarred, their defenses all but shattered. The soldiers of Malum were relentless, and the fight, though far from over, had already taken a heavy toll on both sides.

For Dorian and the rest of House Decus, this was only the beginning. They had repelled one wave—but more were coming. And the question that gnawed at Dorian's mind as he wiped the blood from his blade was simple: How much longer could they keep fighting before the walls of their kingdom finally crumbled?