I. The Sustenance of Shadow
The morning within Obsidios Lithos began not with the sun, but with the grey, filtered light of the Obsidian Ordo. The air was cool, smelling of ozone and wet stone. In the expanded granaries, Obsidian Marshall Garrus Vane oversaw the logistics of a miracle.
The Dark Harvest was being processed. The agricultural belt surrounding the Keep, infused by the magic of the first tower and now supercharged by the Synergistic Link with Obsidios Iubeo, was producing food at an unnatural rate.
Garrus watched as laborers unloaded carts of produce that defied nature. Root vegetables the size of helmets, their skins a tough, matte black, were sliced open to reveal vibrant, nutrient-dense flesh. Wheat, threshed from stalks that chimed like metal in the wind, was ground into a dark, heavy flour that filled a man's stomach with a single loaf. The refugees were no longer gaunt; their bodies were filling out, their muscles hardening, their biology adapting to the high-energy diet of the Imperium.
"The army marches on its stomach," Garrus muttered, a rare satisfaction in his voice. "And we are feeding them magic."
The Raven Legion was fed, armored, and drilling. It was time to push the perimeter.
II. The Landscape of the Southern Expanse
Legion Commander Veridian Vex led the expeditionary force. Two full Scutum Companies (150 men) and a Support Company (75 archers) marched out of the main gates, their Obsidian Plate armor drinking in the dim light. Their objective was the Southern Expanse—the vast, unprotected breadbasket of the Union, now a hunting ground for the Pale Ones.
As they reached the 30-mile edge of the Obsidian Ordo, the world shifted violently. They stepped out of the cool, protective shadow and into the glaring, unfiltered reality of the south.
The landscape that stretched before them was a breathtaking, terrifying vista of isolation.
The Golden Desolation: The South was a sprawling ocean of gold and ochre. Endless fields of sun-baked wild grass and unharvested Union wheat rippled in the hot wind, stretching toward a flat, shimmering horizon. Unlike the rocky East or the hilly North, there was no cover here—only the ruthless, exposing gaze of the sun.
The Islands of Humanity: The villages were not clustered; they were islands in this sea of grass, separated by miles of empty, dusty road. Each settlement sat alone, a tiny cluster of wood and thatch surrounded by vast emptiness, utterly vulnerable. To the west, the faint blue line of the distant river cut through the plains, the only source of life in the heat.
The Atmosphere of Fear: Without the Ordo, the air felt thin and anxious. The heat shimmer on the road distorted the distance, making every shadow look like a stalking predator. It was a beautiful landscape, but it was a beauty that promised death to anyone caught in the open.
Veridian took a breath of the hot, dry air. It tasted of dust and fear. He touched the Raven Brand on his neck. Since the activation of the second tower, the connection felt different—deeper, colder, more immediate. The Synergistic Bond didn't just empower Corvin; it reinforced the Cohesion Collective. Veridian felt the presence of his 225 soldiers not as separate men, but as extensions of his own limbs.
III. The Escalation
The scouts—Black Flock ravens circling high in the thermal currents—screeched a warning. Umbra, channeling the view to Corvin and down through the chain of command, relayed the visual: Dust plumes to the Southeast.
It was not a patrol. It was a stampede.
A convoy of three villages had banded together, a desperate train of wagons and livestock fleeing north toward the legend of the "Black Keep." They were exposed on the open road, miles from shelter.
And they were being hunted.
Emerging from the tall, golden wheat like sharks cutting through water were the Pale Ones (Insidiator). But this was not a lone scavenger. It was a pack of twelve—larger, faster, and more coordinated than the ones encountered before. The monsters, their pale flesh stark against the golden grain, moved with a terrifying, fluid grace, their bone spikes tearing through the brush. They were herding the convoy, cutting off escape, savoring the terror.
IV. The Test of the Synergistic Link
"Phalanx formation! Double time!" Veridian's command wasn't shouted; it was projected through the Flock-Link. The Legion responded instantly, a single organism of black steel moving with supernatural synchronization.
They crested the ridge and descended onto the road, interposing themselves between the monsters and the screaming refugees.
The Impact: The Pale Ones, blind but sensing the sudden mass of body heat and organized magic, shrieked—a sound of grinding wet bones. They abandoned the wagons and threw themselves at the Legion.
The collision was seismic. Twelve monsters, each strong enough to tear a horse in half, slammed into the Obsidian Scutums.
In the past, the line might have buckled. But the Synergistic Link held. The soldiers stood with the density of the Void Stone itself. The Obsidian Plate Resilience held firm against the iron-hard claws.
The Counter-Strike: "Purge!" Veridian roared.
The front line dropped their shields in unison. Seventy-five Obsidian Gladii thrust forward.
The blades bit deep into the pale, sinewy flesh. The effect of the enhanced power was immediate. The wounds didn't just blacken; the flesh necrotized and crumbled instantly upon contact. The chaos magic animating the beasts was violently unraveled by the superior Order of the Obsidian. The regeneration was shattered.
From the rear, the Support Company loosed a volley. The Obsidian-tipped arrows, fired with the enhanced strength of the obsidian-fused bows, punched through the monsters' dense muscle and bone, pinning them to the dry earth.
V. The Salvation of the Plains
It was a slaughter. The pack was annihilated in minutes, their bodies dissolving into grey ash that stained the golden road.
Veridian Vex removed his helm, looking at the refugees. They huddled by their wagons, staring at the black-armored giants who had butchered the nightmares. They saw the Raven Standard—the metallic feathers glistening in the sun—and the unyielding wall of order.
"You ran to the Shadow," Veridian announced, his voice carrying over the wind. "And the Shadow has answered."
He gestured north, back toward the looming, dark cloud bank of the Obsidian Ordo on the horizon. "Move. The Raven Lord waits."
The Legion formed a protective box around the convoy and began the march back. As they crossed the threshold into the Ordo, the dry heat vanished, replaced by the cool, invigorating chill of the domain. The refugees wept—not from fear, but from the crushing relief of absolute safety.
The Southern Expansion had begun. The Nyx Imperium was not just conquering land; it was conquering fear itself.