Beneath the splintering towers of Crestwood, the once-proud capital of Astoria, panic surged through the narrow streets like a flood breaking free of its banks.
Merchants abandoned their stalls, goods trampled underfoot as screaming citizens fled through the market square. The usual scents of roasted chestnuts and tanned leather were drowned beneath the choking stench of smoke and something far fouler—the cloying, metallic reek of blood and rot.
From the eastern gate, a roar rolled over the city like thunder. The crowd froze, a heartbeat of silence falling—then the first wave of attackers came crashing through the haze.
They were not soldiers.
Men, women, even children stumbled forward, their bodies jerking unnaturally as if pulled by invisible strings. Black ooze leaked from the corners of their mouths and eyes, streaking their faces in grotesque rivulets. Their pupils were blown wide, their teeth bared in feral snarls as they shrieked and lunged at anything that moved.
At first, the people of Crestwood thought these were victims fleeing some greater terror. Then the first merchant—a broad-shouldered man wielding a meat cleaver—sank his blade into a city guard's throat with a guttural scream. The guard gurgled and fell, and chaos exploded.
"Hold the line!" Captain Rowan bellowed, shoving his men into formation near the fountain at the square's center. His voice was barely audible over the cacophony—the clash of steel, the ragged cries of the dying, and the maddened shrieks of the attackers.
From the shadows of the alleyways, creatures burst forth—not quite animals, not quite men. Wolves with too-long limbs, their eyes weeping the same black sludge. Birds with broken wings that still managed to lunge and tear at flesh.
One soldier screamed as a wolf-creature latched onto his leg, dragging him down into the muck. Black ooze splattered as its jaws worked furiously, not to feed, but to silence.
Rowan swung his blade in a wide arc, cleaving through a man whose ribs jutted like broken cage bars beneath his skin. "They're not people anymore!" he roared, his voice hoarse. "Cut them down or we all die!"
The defenders fought with desperation, their polished armor already slick with blood and grime. Every time one of the creatures fell, more came, scrambling over the bodies of the dead, their shrieks merging into a single, maddening note.
Amid the chaos, a chilling chant began to rise. It came not from the throats of the attackers, but from the black ooze itself as it pooled and writhed between the cobblestones, forming whispering shapes.
"Find the Songweaver."
"Find the Songweaver."
"FIND THE SONGWEAVER!"
The words reverberated in the air, deep and primal, as if the city itself were screaming.
Captain Rowan's blood ran cold. That name—Songweaver—he had heard it once before, rasped from the cracked lips of the assassin they'd captured weeks ago. The man had been half-mad, his body wracked with violent tremors, black sludge dripping from his mouth as he muttered of thrones shattering and songs ending.
Rowan's gut twisted.
Gods help them all… were all these people the same as him?
"Fall back to the inner wall!" he bellowed, his voice raw with urgency as he seized a wounded soldier by the collar and hauled him upright. "Get the civilians to the citadel! MOVE!"
The command broke the paralysis gripping his men. Guards surged into motion, forming ragged lines to shield the retreat as they herded terrified townsfolk toward safety.
Then the night itself screamed.
A guttural, bone-deep roar tore through the air, so loud it rattled windows and sent tiles cascading from the rooftops. The ground trembled beneath Rowan's boots. Even the frenzied attackers faltered for a heartbeat, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound.
Through the swirling smoke and rain of embers, something massive began to take shape.
It emerged from the firelight in staggering, terrible pieces—a nightmare made flesh. Its body was a grotesque fusion of man and beast, limbs twisted and grafted together at impossible angles. Human arms jutted from a wolf's ribcage. A stag's antlers burst from a screaming human face, only for the face to melt and shift into another. Its flesh pulsed as though alive, black ooze streaming in rivulets from every seam.
The streets fell silent. Even the maddened thralls seemed to hold their breath, their twitching bodies stilled as if awaiting command.
The creature lifted its many heads, the chorus of mouths opening in unison. What came forth was not a roar, but a single word, carried on a voice that seemed to echo from the stones beneath their feet and the smoke above their heads.
"The Songweaver lives. Kill the Songweaver.."
The air went still—too still. Rowan's heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst.
Then, without warning, the monster hurled itself forward with terrifying speed, a living avalanche of flesh and shadow, surging straight toward the heart of Crestwood.
"By the gods," Rowan whispered, before shouting, "HOLD THE LINE!"
But deep down, he knew the line was already broken.
The beast thundered closer, each step shattering cobblestones beneath its writhing bulk. Its many mouths shrieked as one, the sound so piercing it sent men clutching at their ears, some dropping their weapons entirely. Rowan braced himself, knowing the line wouldn't hold. Not against that.
And then the world erupted in light.
A golden sigil flared in midair above the courtyard, vast and intricate, its runes spinning in interlocking circles. The heat of its sudden appearance seared Rowan's skin and turned the air into shimmering waves.
From the heart of that radiance, a single figure stepped forward.
Emperor Valerius Crestwood.
He moved like a phantom, his crimson cloak snapping in the backdraft of power that surged around him. His eyes blazed like molten gold, his expression one of cold, unshakable fury. For a breath, the battlefield itself seemed to bow beneath his presence.
With a sharp sweep of his hand, the sigil collapsed inward, condensing into a spear of pure, incandescent light.
"Begone from my city," Valerius thundered, his voice carrying over the chaos like the tolling of a war bell.
He hurled the spear.
It struck the monster dead center, detonating in a cataclysmic burst of force. A shockwave rippled outward, flattening nearby thralls and extinguishing fires with a thunderous whoomph. The towering abomination was thrown back, its stitched body convulsing as chunks of blackened flesh were ripped away. It crashed through a row of buildings with an earthshaking roar, sending plumes of dust and rubble skyward.
For a fleeting moment, silence reigned.
Rowan staggered to his knees, gasping, his ears ringing from the blast. Around him, soldiers and civilians stared in stunned awe at the lone figure standing amidst the ruin.
The emperor extended one hand, and the remnants of the golden magic coiled around his fingers like molten chains. "This city is mine," he said, each word sharp as a blade. "And I will not suffer it to fall to filth like you."
The monster answered with a wet, guttural laugh that rolled through the ruins like a plague wind. Its many faces contorted, lips splitting into jagged smiles.
"The Songweaver… lives," it hissed again, even as black ooze poured from its wounds to knit its body back together.
Valerius's eyes narrowed. His other hand rose, gathering power, runes sparking into existence around him. "Rowan!" he barked without looking back.
Rowan jolted to attention. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty!"
"Get every living soul behind the inner wall," Valerius commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Now. I will deal with this."
Rowan swallowed hard, staring at the monstrosity as it rose to its full, impossible height once more. His mouth went dry, but he forced himself to obey, rallying his men with desperate shouts.
As the defenders began their retreat, Valerius took a single, deliberate step forward. His cloak rippled in the night air, and the runes around him ignited like a newborn sun.
The emperor's gaze was a promise of annihilation.
"Come then," he growled to the abomination. "Let us see which of us Chaos claims first."
The air between man and monster seemed to stretch taut, humming with raw power. Smoke coiled in the ruined streets, lit from below by the eerie glow of Valerius's runes and the sickly gleam of the black ooze dripping from the abomination's body. For one heartbeat, Crestwood held its breath.
Then the monster charged.
Its many limbs struck the earth like hammers, splintering stone as it barreled forward. Buildings crumbled in its wake, rooftops collapsing as the thing moved with terrifying, unnatural speed. Its chorus of mouths wailed, the sound a maddening cacophony that clawed at the mind.
Valerius didn't flinch. He thrust both hands outward.
A wall of golden energy surged up from the ground, runes blazing like miniature suns. The monster slammed into it with a bone-crunching impact that sent cracks spiderwebbing through the magical barrier. Black ooze sizzled and popped where it touched the light, releasing a stench of burning rot.
"Hold," Valerius snarled through clenched teeth, his muscles straining as he forced more power into the shield.
The beast reared back, then lashed out with half a dozen limbs at once. The barrier shuddered violently. With a deafening crack, it shattered, shards of golden light cascading through the night like falling stars.
The emperor leapt backward as the monster lunged, its claws tearing deep furrows where he'd stood a heartbeat before. Valerius landed lightly, spinning with an outstretched hand. Runes spiraled around his wrist and shot forward, forming chains of glowing script that lashed around the creature's limbs.
"By the old law and the first fire, I bind you!" he roared.
The chains tightened, searing into corrupted flesh. The monster screamed, its myriad mouths stretching unnaturally wide in a single, agonized cry that rattled windows for blocks. Black ooze sprayed in gouts, sizzling where it hit the ground.
For an instant, it seemed the emperor had it restrained.
Then the creature pulled.
The chains snapped one by one with thunderous cracks, shards of glowing runes scattering into the air. Valerius stumbled, blood trickling from his nose as the backlash of broken magic struck him.
The beast lunged again, closing the distance in a single bound.
Valerius thrust his hands skyward, summoning a pillar of blinding light. The column struck the monster dead-on, blasting it off its feet and through a collapsing bell tower. Stone rained down as the tower toppled, crushing dozens of lesser thralls beneath it.
Rowan, herding civilians toward the inner wall, turned just in time to see the emperor silhouetted against the glow. For a moment, Valerius looked like a god descended to the battlefield. Hope flickered in Rowan's chest.
But then the rubble shifted.
The monster rose again, even larger than before, its form mutating grotesquely as it absorbed the flesh of fallen thralls into its mass. A stag's skull burst from its shoulder, while new limbs sprouted and twisted like gnarled roots. Its voices merged into a single guttural tone that rumbled through the streets like an earthquake.
"CHAOS RISES."
The ground beneath Valerius's feet split, black ichor bubbling up through the cracks. The ooze shot upward like spears, forcing him to leap and weave through the assault. Each time he landed, his boots struck glowing sigils midair, as though he were stepping on the very fabric of magic itself.
He retaliated with blasts of concentrated light, carving through the ooze spears and searing chunks off the creature's writhing form. The clash lit up the night sky in alternating flashes of gold and shadow, like a war between suns and eclipses.
"Die, abomination!" Valerius roared, conjuring a blade of pure radiance in his right hand. He vaulted onto a rooftop, sprinted across it in a blur of motion, and launched himself at the monster's central torso.
The blade plunged deep into its mass, sinking to the hilt.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still.
Then the monster laughed.
The sound was a low, bubbling mockery, rolling from every mouth across the creature's shifting flesh. It reverberated through the streets like the tolling of a funeral bell.
Valerius's grip tightened on the hilt of his radiant blade as he tried to wrench it free, but the monster's flesh clamped down around it like a vice. Black ooze surged over the blade, hissing where it met the searing light.
"Damn you," he snarled, planting a boot against the creature's hide and straining with all his strength.
The monster's many mouths opened wide, and a dozen clawed limbs lashed toward him at once. There was no time to dodge.
A blur of silver light streaked across his vision.
A shield of runes materialized in the air with a resounding boom, intercepting the strike inches from Valerius's chest. The claws scraped and screeched against the barrier before being hurled backward in a violent ripple of magical force.
"Your Majesty, fall back!" a sharp voice commanded.
Valerius twisted, eyes narrowing. A woman in deep blue battle robes stood on the adjacent rooftop, her palms glowing with intricate, interlocking sigils. Her white hair was tied back in a severe braid, her expression calm and cold as ice.
"Lira," Valerius growled, recognizing the commander of the Elite Mage Division.
She extended her hands, and the air above the street tore open with a deafening rush. One after another, figures stepped through gleaming portals, their silhouettes outlined in crackling magic.
Twelve mages—each one a master of their craft, each bearing the insignia of the emperor's personal guard.
The moment they appeared, the battlefield changed.