Canute observed the declining signal from the manipulator—an emergency device that maintained the link between alchemists and the mechanical battalions. The once-vibrant green glow was fading into a dangerous orange hue. A warning he could not afford to ignore.
"The Emperor… has failed?" he murmured, brows furrowed. The army had already crossed beyond the eastern Achaemenid borders, now navigating the perilous, snow-laden mountain range. Their pace had hastened, thanks to the pegasi that ferried them over vast distances.
Erebus had strategically stationed his battalion at the mountain peaks, leveraging their resilience to the severe weather conditions. But their brief advantage quickly unraveled. A sudden ambush from both flanks caught them in a deadly pincer. Triglav surged from the east, and Wyvern from the west.
A messenger was dispatched urgently from Erebus to Canute, whose forces were stationed near the base of the terrain. Yet more complications arose. Canute was forced to abandon his initial strategy and rethink the defense altogether. He couldn't recklessly divert reinforcements to support Helios—not with three entities now converging upon them.
"Lord Canute, a messenger from Olympus seeks an audience," a soldier announced, breath misting in the cold.
Though the encrypted communication stones could have sufficed, the gravity of the news demanded a more direct, tangible delivery.
"Send them in," Canute ordered, his voice calm but strained.
Outside, the air was bitter, unforgiving. Most Amanécerian soldiers depended on alchemical instruments to shield themselves from the frostbite.
Moments later, the camp was thrown into chaos.
"We've sighted one! It's approaching fast!" a scout shouted as the defenses scrambled into formation.
Canute felt the pressure close in around him. Erebus was already locked in brutal combat with the Wyvern, its flames so intense they were evaporating the very mountaintops beneath their feet. The crisis had now multiplied.
With no better option, Canute commanded Octavius to take half the force and engage Triglav on the eastern front.
As the three-headed entity unleashed its full wrath, the battlefield descended into utter havoc. Communication was becoming increasingly sporadic. Maintaining contact with Helios and the Alchemist Tower proved near-impossible amidst the storm of combat and failing tech.
Half a day bled away in their desperate effort to hold the advancing threats at bay.
---
Rudolph groaned, eyes narrowing as he watched Iblis weave a dark barrier around the corrupted core. Extending his hand, Iblis siphoned the core's malevolent energy into himself. Nearby, Vlad had partially separated from the core, its power waning. He glared at them warily, aware the tide was shifting.
The ground was littered with rubble and the bodies of the fallen. The alchemists had been decimated—some dead, others barely clinging to life. The dark troops, without control, stood inert.
A weak breath pierced the silence.
"Helios!" Rudolph gasped, stunned. "He's alive!"
Rushing to him, Rudolph found Helios gravely injured. His left leg had been torn off. Likewise, Rudolph's right arm—the very one that wielded the holy blade gifted by the divine—had been severed. Blood poured from their wounds like rain from soaked cloth.
"He put himself in harm's way to protect us," Rudolph realized. The shock was still sinking in.
"That devil… he's gone," Rudolph muttered, eyes narrowing.
"I've sent a pulse of my life force to the alchemists. They'll know," he added.
A sharp, ice-laced voice echoed through the ruins.
"Come out."
They froze.
"He's regained consciousness," Rudolph signed to the others, his fingers forming crisp military hand signals. Vlad was recovering.
Time was running out. They had to act before the enemy consolidated power. Helios tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and bound the stump where his leg once was. The sound of the fabric tearing seemed deafening in the silence.
A new plan formed.
Kill Vlad. Hunt Iblis. Regain control of the remaining dark troops—and trigger their emergency self-destruct protocol if needed.
Outside the volcano, the last of their forces witnessed Iblis ascend, summoning yet another legion of the undead to block any pursuit.
The battle was ferocious. The undead rose again and again.
Canute had tasked the Alchemist Tower with discovering a method to sever these cursed beings from their unlife. But silence was all he'd received—no word from his brother, his wife, or his colleagues.
They were out of time. And out of options.
The signals from the mechanical life forms was detected on the radar in the main tent where three alchemists were working to search a signal from Helios' army.
"Report the acting grand alchemist! We've detected signals near Deshrat's Veil. Hurry!"
The alchemists hastened in frenzy to inform him of the lingering hope.
Canute was preoccupied with the messenger. The encryption stone also reported the same words.
The previous grand alchemist, their father had regained consciousness.
The words resonated within his mind for a long moment.
"Father isn't out of danger. But he's still holding onto the weak thread of life."
The encryption stone on his table emitted a faint glow.
Another message appeared. He recognized it was from his wife.
"The grandmaster found the cause of the the portal's opening. He has concluded that it was intentional. Also Neli and his team have created an explosive device. The grandmaster insists we delay it's use."
"Why would father ask us to delay its use when we're already losing this war?" He frowned.
Then the last of the syllables appeared.
"Dabbah has changed its course. Amanécer may not survive this time."