Part 5: Numquam Dolor

The battlefield had become a hellscape—an endless blur of smoke, fire, and the echoing screams of men who had lost everything but their will to fight. The sound of pulse rifles crackling through the air, the clash of blades meeting in brutal combat, and the heavy thud of artillery fire created a symphony of destruction that seemed to stretch on without end. Every corner of House Decus' citadel was in ruins. The strong walls had crumbled, broken beneath the weight of House Malum's assault.

Dorian stood at the front lines, his breath ragged, sweat and blood staining his armor. His blade was covered in the blood of Malum soldiers, but there was no time for respite. House Malum's forces were endless, pouring over the remains of their defenses like a tidal wave of fury. For every soldier House Decus cut down, two more took their place.

"Erik!" Dorian shouted over blast of gunfire. "We need to get to the command center! We can't hold them much longer like this!"

Erik, his face a grim mask beneath the grime of battle, nodded sharply. "Move out, Dorian. We'll cover you!"

The two men dashed through the smoke-filled battlefield, cutting down any Malum soldier who came too close, moving with a fluid precision born of countless battles fought side by side. But even their skill couldn't stem the tide. The battle was spiraling out of control. House Decus had already suffered severe casualties, and Malum's forces were pushing forward with the ferocity of a beast cornered.

Suddenly, the air grew still. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Dorian's heart skipped a beat as he looked up to the sky, where a dark shadow loomed over the battlefield—a massive Malum ship descending from the clouds like a harbinger of doom.

The ship was unlike any vessel Dorian had ever seen. Its dark hull was jagged and scarred, its surface slick with a sheen of unnatural darkness. The craft blotted out the sun as it hovered above the battlefield, casting a pall over the land. Malum's warships were formidable, but this one felt… different. Ancient. Malevolent.

"No…" Dorian's voice was barely a whisper as the ship lowered its bulk closer to the ground, an ominous hum emanating from its core.

And then it released it.

A thick, black cloud shot from the belly of the ship, spiraling out in all directions, covering the battlefield like a thick shroud. The air turned heavy, almost suffocating, and the smoke clung to their skin and armor, blinding them. A deep, unnatural chill ran through Dorian's bones as the ground seemed to distort under the weight of the fog.

"What is this?" Erik gasped, his voice strained as he fumbled to find his bearings. "I can't see—!"

The fog seemed to have a life of its own, swirling around them, disorienting both sides of the battlefield. The pulse rifles of the Malum forces continued to fire, but the visibility was near zero. There was no telling where the enemy was, or how close they were getting. It felt as though they were fighting ghosts—unseen, unheard, but ever present.

The soldiers of House Decus stumbled, unable to distinguish friend from foe in the thick smoke. Panic spread quickly through their ranks as the once-organized defenses began to falter. They had fought against pulse rifles, against blade-wielding soldiers, but this… this was something new.

"Hold your ground!" King Decus' voice boomed through the chaos, his voice cutting through the thick smoke like a beacon of hope. "Hold! We will not let this land fall!"

But even his voice seemed distant, swallowed by the oppressive black fog. Dorian could hear the clashing of swords and the sharp cracks of rifle fire, but it all felt muffled, unreal. The ground underfoot was slippery with the blood of the fallen. 

"Erik!" Dorian shouted again, his voice panicked. He had lost sight of his comrade in the dense haze, and every direction seemed like a trap. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he swung his blade through the air, desperately trying to defend himself from unseen ,men.

"Erik!"

"I'm here!" came Erik's voice, barely audible above the din of battle. He emerged from the smoke like a wraith, his blade gleaming with the light of his shield's energy field. "Stay close! We need to regroup!"

But even as they moved together, Dorian couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted. The Malum forces were just as disoriented, but their numbers were overwhelming, and the fog seemed to give them an edge. It was as if the very atmosphere was against them.

Above them, the Malum ship hovered, its dark form casting a shadow over the battlefield.

Inside the vessel, a figure stood in front of a massive control panel. The individual was cloaked in shadow, their face obscured by a helmet that reflected the dim glow of the ship's controls. This figure was not a soldier, but something more—a strategist, a tactician. Someone with the power to change the tide of battle.

"Release the second wave," the figure commanded, their voice cold and mechanical. "Let them feel the full force of Malum's might."

At the command, the ship's systems hummed to life. Another stream of black smoke poured from the ship, but this time, it wasn't just a cloud. It was laced with volatile, Cibus-infused energy—energy that distorted the very fabric of reality. The air around House Decus seemed to shimmer and warp, as if the very laws of physics were being twisted by the Malum ship's dark power.

Back on the ground, Dorian and Erik had taken refuge behind a shattered pillar, their bodies pressed against the cold stone as the fog swirled around them.

"I can't breathe…" Dorian gasped, his chest tightening with every breath. The smoke was suffocating, almost like it had a physical weight.

"We need to find the command center," Erik said, his eyes scanning the darkness. "The fog is only a tool to disorient us. We fight through it, we win."

But even as Erik spoke, the fog seemed to grow thicker. The air was growing colder, and strange, eerie noises echoed from within the haze—the sounds of something moving, something hunting. The atmosphere itself felt hostile, as if the very world was conspiring against them.

A loud, eerie hiss filled the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of pulse rifle fire. A barrage of shots fired from the darkness, narrowly missing them. Dorian's heart raced as he swung his blade in the direction of the shots, but the sound seemed to come from all sides.

"We're being surrounded!" Dorian shouted, his voice strained.

Erik didn't hesitate. "Keep moving! Keep fighting!" He leapt forward, his blade cutting through the smoke with practiced precision.

But it was as if the fog itself was alive—swarming, constricting. Every step forward felt like a battle against the very air, each breath a struggle for survival.

Dorian fought with every ounce of his strength, but the smoke seemed to grow heavier, denser. His vision blurred as more shots fired from unseen sources, and he felt the cold bite of fear gnawing at him. The Malum soldiers were everywhere, invisible within the shroud of darkness that had descended upon them. And yet, despite the fear, the one thing that remained clear in his mind was the same: survival.

They had to survive.

Above, the Malum ship's engines hummed with unholy energy. The second wave was coming, and the battlefield was about to become a hell beyond anything House Decus could have imagined.

The fight for Torva had reached a new level.