Author's Notes: After some debate, I have decided I will be inputting minor other crossover bits into this setting. By that, I mean non-Warhammer additions that are going to be mostly to add a touch of flavor. Don't expect anything crazy like sandwiching the Overlord continent in or something. Although, you have no idea how tempted I was to start toying with a story about that anime. It is incredibly entertaining, and I knew that if I started on that, this would stall out for too long. Because attention spans are the bane of my existence.

Reviewers-

DJatomica69- Glad you liked it!
Machcia- Louk certainly isn't going to be the Supreme Commander Master General-type in this. He's a killer, not a general. While he will be leading a bit, this isn't an OC-saves-everything-and-is-the-best-at-everything story.
The Storm Master 567- There's got to be tension in a story, and I felt that was a good bit of tension. And yes, poor Vult. He didn't deserve it.
Danteinfernus- Yes, her ahem is very important.
Abdiel Amaro- Glad they're coming across well. I'll be experimenting a bit more with horror/macabre in this one, because it is incredibly hard to write Slaanesh well (since nearly everybody thinks of the Dark Prince as SEXDRUGSALCHOHOL). I want to make this one stick.
ManwithaPlan113- I don't necessarily plan on delving too much into Louk's 'current' state in the 40k timeline when this went down, but he is indeed solo in Eostia. Help may come later, but it won't be from a corner you would expect.
V- What do you think her final spell was going to be when she said "You will join me in hell"? Her intention was to blow the whole thing up.
SomeGuyOverHere- Oh yeah, there isn't going to be some nice and happy "we'll all fight Vult now" moment. It's going to be a slog. Most of Louk's abilities are subtle enough it's going to be shown rather than explained. But I might have some explanation in here somewhere. And as for Olga on horseback... read and enjoy.
Shaneman17- Once they are convinced of the existence of daemons, then yes it would be easier to believe. But he has to persuade them first.
Interested Guest- Well, canonically she's a virgin, so... It's based off an H-game. It doesn't have to make sense.
JauneBrando- Woot!
Sigma-del-Prisium- The grim darkness will cast its shadow over Eostia, indeed.


Ken, The White Citadel

Prim stood over the gatehouse, palms resting on the cool stone rampart, watching the long column of Black Dogs mercenaries marching past the city. Every day brought a new column of warriors, from the east or the west, all heading for the guarded pass that Vult had taken his army through. She estimated another twenty thousand mercenaries had passed Ken since he had started off. Nearly all the Black Dogs in Eostia had been summoned to his side. On the one hand, she thanked the gods that Vult had so many to call upon. He would need everything to defeat the Legion in a straight battle. But with this many heading into Garan, the seven kingdoms were vulnerable to raiding bands.

The Shields were far too reliant on the Black Dogs, she had decided. Before now, it had been more of a background thought, a nagging question that had surfaced from time to time. When the only threat had been raiding bands, there had been little to worry about in their reliance. Those rare times they needed a full army, the Black Dogs had always been available, and they mobilized quickly enough to combat the large threats. Vult had saved the kingdoms more than once.

Outside of Feoh and Geofu, the kingdoms relied on the Black Dogs for their troops. Well, Ansur was its own anarchical powerhouse, with the halflings, dwarves, and beastkin. Half of them, then. Thorn, Ur, and Rad had little to no standing force though. And Ken only had the Citadel Guard for the capitol. With all the Black Dogs pushing into Garan, the majority of Eostia was now practically defenseless.

That did not sit well with her. Her people deserved to be protected; what sort of ruler was she that required them to rely so heavily on others for their safety?

"Do ya think there's enough of them" Luu-luu asked dryly. The halfling had propped herself up on the crenellated battlements, tucked precariously with one leg hanging in the void. The master of Ansur had a massive sandwich on her lap and an oversized mug in her hand. The dark stout swished near the brim, stirred by Luu-Luu's casual gesturing.

"The Black Dogs are excellent warriors" Prim affirmed, not caring for the uneasy flutter that struck her at the halfling's dismissive question.

"HAVE FUN STORMING THE CASTLE" Luu-Luu suddenly roared, waving her mug towards the distant column. Though small and unimpressive to look at, Luu-Luu's hidden physical attributes always surprised them. Her booming voice stretched across the plain so well that even the mercenaries turned to face the city. A few waved cheerily at them. Prim could not contain her smile, and she lifted her hand to return their attentions.

"Do you think it will work?" The halfling took a long swig of her stout.

Did Prim think it would work? She honestly could not imagine the Legion being defeated. Their numbers were limitless, and the Dark Quen was rumored to be a match for any mage except for Celestine herself. Could Vult and his warriors hope to defeat them? Even with so many men, even should they be assembled together and fight as one…

"It will take a miracle" Prim admitted.

"Buh-BYE!" Luu-Luu tittered. "Aw, that one blew you a kiss"

The halfing's eyesight was sharp as a hawk's, and Prim believed her. The young princess blushed, but continued to wave. Reaching the end of her mug, the halfling reached down and picked up the keg she had left there. Spending a short moment eyeing the mug, she shrugged and tossed it carelessly over the wall before lifting the keg with both hands and pulling the cork with her teeth. The keg was heavy enough for two grown humans to heft, but halfling strength made it effortless. "I never get a-belch-nything like that."

"You don't seem the kind to enjoy that." Prim eyed the halfling thoughtfully. Her gaze drifted to the sandwich on Luu-Luu's lap, dripping red juices. "Is that… raw?"

"The steak? Yeah. How else would you eat it?"

A grimace stole across her mouth, and Prim turned back to watch the receding column of mercenaries. She mouthed a silent prayer for their safety.

-v-

Garan Wastes

The sun set slowly in the wastes. Apart from the mountains bordering the vast lands, there was little to break the horizon. Sloping dunes at best broke up the landscape, but the sun fell on them until the very last moment. Despite the emptiness of the wastelands, he had noted on the way to the Black Fortress that it had a certain… charm to it. A pervading quiet and peacefulness that he had enjoyed during the nights standing away from the rest of the army.

Now the emptiness was a curse. Louk rode behind the others, alternating between eyeing the way forward and the way behind. So far, no sign of pursuit worth worrying over had made itself known. There were dust clouds far in the distance; though he did not know whether that was pursuit or scouts. It paid to be cautious. For now he kept the cloud in his sights. The anger had faded over time, but his pride still burned hot.

Virtuoso had allowed them to leave.

Had it been a true fight to escape, his honor would have sated itself. But to be allowed to leave. To be given permission… the simmering need to turn his horse around and ride back to challenge the daemon gnawed at him. It was a foolish notion, of course. The daemon was too well entrenched and empowered to face. The curse of his blood did not care. The ghostly image of its cackling laughter tickled his ears. He needed to kill it. He needed its skull.

The young half-elf threw her gaze back at him. The two elves rode on the same steed; she had not had time to gather more than two. They were both small and light enough to not overburden their steed, though after riding for this long a rest would be needed. These horses had great strength and stamina, but they were only animals. Sensing her unspoken question, Louk scanned the slopes ahead of them and picked one that looked promising. The sun was just starting to disappear behind the distant mountains. It would be dark soon as it was. They would need sleep.

Not bothering to speak, he pointed out his intent. Chloe angled her horse obligingly, and Louk urged his horse forwards to pull alongside them. Walking their mounts behind the cover of the dune, he slipped easily to the ground. Spending a moment to survey the covered side of the dune, he gauged what sort of protection they could expect, and how much effort it would take to their presence.

When the others did not join him on the ground, he sighed softly and walked around the horse to assist them down. The trouble with doubling up on a horse, he assumed. That, or the dark elves were unused to riding. Returning his attention to his companions, he glanced up at Olga Discordia and offered his hands to assist.

His mouth went dry when he was starkly reminded that the Dark Queen had been on the verge of a gangrape when he and Chloe had burst into the throne room. Her naked body sat uneasily on the horse, caramel skin glistening with sweat from the oppressive heat. Succulent breasts heaved as she sucked in a long breath, her dark, brooding eyes gazed down at him without expression, free of judgment or disgust.

Louk realized he was staring. Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat and motioned for her to take his hands. Her thick, luscious thigh swept over her mount's head, flashing a tantalizing patch of well-maintained fur between her hips, and placed her hands on his shoulders instead. Accepting her decision, Louk gripped her by the hips and guided her down to the ground. Loose strands of her hair brushed against him, sliding down his face. For a moment her weight hung in the air, resting in his hands. Then her feet touched down, landing gently on top of his boots, and the dark elf queen eased backwards a step.

With her powerful presence and regal demeanor, it was easy to forget that she stood nearly a head shorter than he did. He went to look her in the eye, but the downward cast of his gaze to do so revealed far more temptation than he had the energy to resist. Choosing instead to inspect the horse's flank, he made a point of patting the queen's shoulder once before stepping back to give her more space.

"We'll rest here for the night" Louk told them. Slipping his cloak off his shoulders, he offered it to Olga, who accepted it with a subtle nod, and turned away. "Apologies, Lady Olga."

Her retainer leapt off the horse and pushed between them, placing her hand on the Olga's shoulder and turning her away to protect her modesty. He took that as his cue to turn away and look for something to tie their horses. Leaving the two elves to themselves, he studied the light pack that had already been on the horse. A blanket, a few rolls of bread, and a lantern. Not much to work with, but he had seen worse.

Letting them alone for a while, he concentrated on climbing up the hill and surveying the dust cloud behind them. It had slowed, diminished, and whoever was out there had stopped moving. That confirmed his fears, that they were being pursued. The daemon had allowed them to leave, but it did not have complete control over its minions yet. This may be a small band, or perhaps orders from one of its lieutenants. That they were stopping now meant they were not mindless. Which meant they would come at night. So they were safe for now.

He remained on the dune until the sun had set and the long shadows covered them all. The soft light of a fire lit his body behind him for a moment, then was hastily stifled as one of the women threw a cloak over it to hide its presence. Appreciating their foresight, he backed down the slope and joined them around the small fire they had assembled out of roots and driftwood.

No one spoke for a little while. Sitting silently around the fire, they heated the food available. The bread was not quite stale yet, but without water it was a tough meal. Louk considered the meal and handed his portion off to them both. They needed it far more than he did. A day or so of no food ranked low on his list of hardships.

Chloe grumbled her way through it, though she dared not complain. Instead she cursed and muttered under her breath about 'bastard humans.' Through the ranting she did not once mention the daemon, or the corrupting presence it had so prevalently established in their former home. Louk considered that as shock, and did not fault her for it. Most would lose their minds at seeing a daemon, much less interacting with it.

It had touched Olga Discordia, and she had survived. The queen's will must have been indomitable to be able to walk away from such close contact without overwhelming corruption. Yet here she sat, unbowed, unbroken. Resting on her knees, clutching his cloak protectively as she stared into the small flames, her brows furrowed in concentration. Since leaving the Black Fortress she had yet to utter a word. Instead she remained lost in her thoughts, and with so many terrible things that could occupy her mind, Louk decided it best to not say or do anything that might bring those back to mind.

After a sufficient period of time, he told them both to sleep. Rest could come for him when they reach safe territories. Until then, he resolved to remain on his guard. Neither of the women grumbled at his command; rather they accepted it gratefully, almost as if they had been awaiting his permission. Chloe put out the fire and used the blanket they had set up to cover the light as a blanket. Her mistress accepted the blanket from Louk's horse, curled up next to the embers, and fell into a deep sleep. The both of them were exhausted. Being locked in the cells had been restless, despite the lack of anything to do. After days of being surrounded by foes, they now must have considered themselves safe enough for real sleep.

To be fair, this was as safe as they could be.

Louk eased back up to the top of the dune and took his post, remaining low on the crest to avoid presenting a silhouette. Settling in for a long night, he drew Durendal and set it on the crest, nestling the blade under the top layer of sandy soil to hide it from potential glinting. His stomach growled fitfully every so often, the only disturbance of the night's stillness.

-v-

The second day they ran out of food. By his estimate, they were halfway to the mountains, halfway to freedom. He could handle it the strain, but his companions were not as prepared as he had been. Despite their sleep the night before, both of the elves were ragged with exhaustion, and their stoic demeanor only mostly hid their suffering. Neither complained aloud, though Louk could tell that Chloe had many things she wanted to say to him. Mostly regarding how her liege did not deserve this punishment, or something to that extent. But the young one kept her mouth stubbornly shut.

The further they rode, the less the bloodlust weighed on him. The worst of it had passed now. Suffocating rage gave way to calculating planning. The daemon had won the opening stage of this war. It was going to be a war; there was no way around it now. It had drawn first blood. Removing Vult from play, even though Louk had known little about him save their brief acquaintance, boded ill. Ensnaring so much of the Black Dogs mercenary army had given the daemon a devastating edge in this war. Now Louk needed allies, and an army to back him up. That meant going back to the Shields and swaying them to his cause, which would hardly be something that would happen quickly or painlessly.

Eostia did not need a warrior now. They needed a diplomat, someone who could bend the entire might of the kingdoms to one mind. Their Goddess could do that, as the worshipped being of the known world, but before that could be accomplished he would need to convince her of the necessity and urgency of the daemon's threat. While the high elf had proven to be at least somewhat receptive to the idea, he had no way of knowing for certain that it could be accomplished.

The dark-haired queen was watching him. They rode abreast now. After their pursuers had failed to show up at night, and seemed content on maintaining their distance, Louk had abandoned the rearguard in favor of keeping a better eye on the two of them. Since doing so, Olga Discordia had kept an eye on him as much as he had on them. Her scrutiny remained unspoken, aloof, and unreadable.

He knew he should not care what she thought of him. She was, simply put, insignificant. Everyone was in the face of this threat. Were it not for the circumstances, he was certain he may have been tasked with killing a woman such as herself, whether for her strange magic or her inhuman nature. Besides that, she was not a real ally. Perhaps one of convenience, but that was all. He doubted he would see her again after delivering her to Celestine and the Shields.

Despite what he knew, he found himself returning her gaze more often than not. The younger half-elf glared at him for doing so. No doubts were in his mind that she considered his brazen attitude unbecoming. With all of the events that had transpired, he understood her need to blame someone for something. Holding that anger in check was a testament to her character.

Olga Discordia's eyes were enchanting. They held a depth of wisdom and strength he had rarely found in any intelligent beings. Her character was pure, at least as pure as could be found outside the fanatical ranks of the zealots of the Ecclesiarchy. Despite what had nearly been done to her days before, she retained her dignity, and carried herself just as proudly as she had before. Alluring, yet respectable. He could not deny how that stirred familiar sensations he had been suppressing for a long time.

Ken could not come quickly enough. Olga was a distraction, nothing more. He could not afford any sort of distraction. He needed to be single-minded, focused. Nothing mattered except expelling Virtuoso back into the hell it came from. It was going to be a long fight, and a brutal one.

When the time came to camp again for the night, there was no shelter to be found. They had reached a long stretch of flat land, with the nearest hills hours away. It was hardly ideal, but the open plain at least meant he could see any enemies coming from a great distance. No fire this time, however. On the flat plains there was no way to hide it. Once again, he ordered them to sleep while he stood guard. The first pangs of exhaustion had begun to tug at his eyelids; his muscles had started to ache.

Their pursuers continued to maintain distance. Now that two days had passed without them approaching, Louk wondered if they had been sent along merely to ensure that he and the two elves left the region. Or, that he had left the region. He doubted the daemon cared much for where Olga and Chloe went. They did not pose a threat. Virtuoso would be keeping an eye on him, however. One way or another, he would have to deal with that unit.

For some time into the night, he watched the specks on the horizon, the unit of horsemen tasked with their pursuit. They had settled in as well, content to merely observe for now. That could change at any time. He needed to be ready for when their priorities shifted, or their control slipped. There were not enough of them to cause him concern, so long as he maintained an eye on them.

"The dead lands" Olga's silken voice whispered. The deposed queen drew his cloak under her and sat by his side. Dextrous fingers began picking through her hair, untangling knots and smoothing the curls with practiced ease. Dawn was still an hour or more away, but the queen looked remarkably refreshed. Not recovered, but refreshed. Her brown eyes regarded him for a moment, half hidden by her working hands. Despite the simple nature of the action, she made it seem fluid and graceful, and Louk decided he had never seen anyone make that daily chore seem quite so… regal.

"So you did this?" He nodded forwards. "Turned this whole region into a dead land?"

"It was one of the first actions I took under the mantle of the Dark Queen" Olga replied. "To ensure that none had a reason to venture into Garan."

"What was this place before?"

"Verdant forests. Crystal lakes. Endless meadows. It was a paradise before…" her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and she stared wistfully into the distance. After a pause, she cleared her throat and continued. "The demons' invasion had already doomed Garan. My people left this region centuries ago, moving to the north."

"You kin, the dark elves?"

Her head bobbed once.

"What made you leave Garan?"

"Humans" she muttered, her expression tightening. "I am sure, by what you heard among these… animals, that you are aware of how my kind are viewed by them. Those pigs have the audacity to view my kin as nothing but objects for their pleasure. Those" she bit her lip for a moment, struggling to find the right words. The delicate arch of her furrowing brows was the only indication of the rage such memories brought to bear. "Our choice was to leave Garan or kill them all. So we left them. Garan became a buffer between our nations. Those that crossed the land were often spotted far in advance, and we could prevent many of those slavers from ever reaching our borders. But once the demons came, they had a whole land to infest and destroy. For our sake, and that of Eostia, I burned Garan to discourage any but the most foolish from entering Garan and drawing the attention of the daemons."

"It was a defensive measure then." Louk nodded. "Scorched earth tactics."

"The demons are content in a wasteland. They have little need for trees, or water, or any of that." Olga sneered at the ground. "I would not give these pests the chance to defile my ancestral home grounds. Better to destroy it all than see it perverted by their touch."

"I've done something similar" Louk told her. "I understand."

At those words, the queen turned her head to study his face. Louk steeled himself and looked on, refusing to risk losing himself in those chocolate eyes.

"You do understand" Olga breathed, making the statement sound both uncertain, yet firm. "Gods, what have you seen in your life?"

"Far too much" Louk admitted. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing the creeping tiredness to vanish. It did not.

"We're going to have to do something about your clothes" he stated, changing the subject. "You aren't riding to Ken wearing nothing but sleeves, boots, and a cloak the entire way."

The ghost of a smirk crept across her lips. Olga looked down at the borrowed cloak, noting how it had been pull back by her sitting, and coyly pulled it back over her body. " While I am grateful for the offering, it is lacking."

Climbing to her feet, Olga planted her staff in the ground and set her hand over the crystal on its mount. A murmured spell drew a low emanation of light from the crystal, green tendrils of energy that spilled out of the foci and spread along her arm, sliding along her body like oil. He watched, fascinated, as the light disappeared under the cloak, and Olga's eyes closed in concentration. When the light faded, she spread her arms wide, tossing the cloak over her shoulders, revealing the same flaunting dress she had worn when he first saw her in the Black Fortress.

"That is better" she muttered, and dropped heavily to a sitting position. Her staff remained in the dirt, standing proudly like a banner pole. But the dark queen's presence seemed to have shrunk. Her shoulders drooped, and her head hung low for several slow, deep breaths. When she recovered, she let out a breathy, bitter laugh.

"That spell used to mean nothing to me. On any other day, It took less than a fraction of my power. My magic is still…" her voice trailed off, and any mirth she might have enjoyed was swept away. A near-invisible ripple spilled down her neck, across her back, and through her limbs. She shuddered once, and clutched the cloak tightly.

Louk wisely changed the conversation again. The spell itself impressed him. Transmutation, or summoning, or whatever the hell it had been, was no easy feat. Complimenting her on it would do no good though. Not when it reminded her of how far she had fallen. "So what are they going to say, when I bring you back to Ken? You and I both know that it won't be a cheery reunion."

"I fully expect them to string me up" Olga claimed. "Figuratively speaking. I made many enemies over the years. I honestly do not even know what Celestine thinks anymore. Does she think I am a monster, Louk Shannegh? Does the Goddess Reborn consider me to have lost my way?"

"I believe Celestine is tired of the war, and eager for peace" Louk assured her. "She stressed the importance of you being brought back alive, and that she had no desire for your death unless it could not be avoided. I would say you have one ally across these mountains. But the rest of the Shields are tempermental. Two, I know will want your blood."

"Alicia Arcturus" Olga stated softly. "Her mother was slain by the demons."

Rising to her feet, Olga brushed excess dirt from the cloak and bid her farewell for the night. Louk resisted the urge to turn and watch the shapely dark elf pad back to Chloe's side. Within a few minutes, her form had gone still, disturbed only by the subtle shift of her breathing.

Louk let out a long sigh and reached over to pluck her staff from the dirt. This had been the easy part, he told himself. Facing off against Virtuoso was nothing compared to the oncoming politics that he would have to wade through on the other side of the mountains.

Sometimes, all a world needed was a good Exterminatus.

-v-

The third day was the worst. The human body could last without food for weeks, given the circumstances. Water, not so much. Though he had the benefit of experience to harden himself from the deprivations, the elves did not. Already, he had decided that their race had some physical advantages over the humans. They were far more durable than mankind. On their second day with no water, they slogged onwards with that commendable stubborn silence, refusing to voice any issue with the state of affairs. Better dying of thirst in a desert than being raped and mutilated by the foul spawn of the Chaos Gods.

Walking made it so much worse, though. Early in the morning, a snake had taken one of their horses. Louk knew far too little of the animals of this place to aid the creature as the small snake's bite sent it into an agonized frenzy. Within a minute, the horse was on the ground, foam spilling from its mouth. He put the animal out of its misery without a second thought.

The second horse gave out on them around midday. Exhausted, dehydrated, and overworked, the horse fell on the side of the road, and Louk put that out of its misery too. So they walked. With the sun beating down overhead, and heat boiling up from the blasted land at their feet.

Olga had it the worst by far. What strength she had regained by rest was gone, erased by her magic spell. Though she trudged on with admirable determination, her head lolled, and by midday her ragged breathing irritated Louk's ears. Every few steps she sucked in a deep gasp, straightening her back as she fought to remain upright and proud. It was a valiant effort, but if they did not have some kind of help soon, Louk knew she was not going to make it. Not on her own feet. Carrying her was not out of the question, but neither she nor her retainer would accept that option while they had the strength to stand.

Their pursuers crept closer by the hour. Vultures circling a dying prey, they maintained a steady, slow pace; no point in straining their horses when Louk and the others had nowhere to run. By his estimate, the riders would come upon them at dusk. That was no good. The elves would be near fainting from exhaustion, at the rate he was pushing them. So he would have to fight the riders off on his own. If they waited, they would bake in the sun and get no further towards their goal. Also not a good option.

When in doubt, go forwards.

A trusted maxim of the Praetorian regiments. Eulogy had taught him that one lifetimes ago. The thought of her brought a grin to his mouth. Blonde hair, slim figure, with a haughty countenance and piercing eyes. Perhaps one of the only Imperial Guard officers he had ever liked, and trusted, she had opened his eyes to the strategy and tactics of an organized military. That knowledge would hopefully serve him well, before this war ended. For now, he was content to remember her lovely smile, a hard-earned prize he had once treasured above all but one other.

"What's so funny" Chloe grunted, her face shaded by an uplifted hand.

"Old friends" Louk answered. "Thinking how to beat Virtuoso and the Legion."

"There are a couple steps in there you might want to solve first" the half-elf muttered darkly. "Like how we're getting out of Garan with our heads. Those riders are still behind us."

"I am aware."

They both turned as the queen slipped. The sand shifted under her feet, sliding her sandaled foot out from under her. With a hoarse cry, she tumbled to her knees, catching herself with a savage jerking motion as her fall came to an abrupt halt. A hiss of pain spilled out of her lips.

"My queen!" Chloe leapt to her side, seeing to her master in an instant. The younger elf helped Olga to her feet, running her hands over Olga's body to check for wounds or injuries. "Your shoulder."

"It is nothing" the queen said, her voiced strained through clenched teeth. The lie was obvious to them all. In stopping her fall, she had held onto her staff for support. That anchor overextended her shoulder, and Louk knew without a doubt she had pulled, or torn, something important. Easing Chloe to arm's reach, Olga tucked her arm tight to her chest and resumed walking. Her dark eyes snapped up at Louk, filled just for a moment with self-loathing. "We must not stop."

Louk bowed his head. Thinking better of extending his arm for support, he merely fell in step at her side, maintaining careful but close distance. The dark elf made no comment about this, though the tension on her face drained away as they continued to walk.

The sun had fallen halfway to the mountains when Louk spotted another dust cloud. Only, this one came from ahead, directly on their path. It was large too, far larger than the one behind them. The easy assumption was that these were more Black Dogs drawn unwittingly to the Black Fortress. If so, the chance that they had not yet fallen to the daemon's touch could not be ignored. He had seen how the daemon infected worlds before. It was still new here, gathering its power, so its influence remained limited. Those he had seen arriving in the days at the fortress had been unaffected by Virtuoso. These most likely were too.

"Move" he ordered the elves, increasing his pace. They hurried to keep up with him, eyeing each other quizzically at the sudden urgency in his voice. Casting his attention behind, Louk confirmed that their pursuers had increased their speed. With the possibility of rescue ahead, it appeared that the moment had come. Virtuoso did not intend for them to leave Garan alive. The problem was, their pursuers were closer than those approaching from the south. And the newcomers had no urgency; they were on a steady march, not a rush to battle.

That needed to change if the elves were to survive this.

"Olga, how much strength can you muster?"

"As much as is required" the dark elf panted, drawing her head up to level with him. "I am Olga Discordia. Even without most of my magic, I can make armies cower before me."

It was a bold statement, and a brave showing, but Louk needed nothing so grand. What he did need was the dark elf to remain standing, and any display of power would potentially jeopardize that.

"Can you send a flare?"

"A signal?" She nodded slowly, drawing to a halt. Taking her staff in both hands, she turned it over to inspect the crystal mounting.

"We need those men to the south to get here faster than the bastards to the north."

Nodding in agreement, the Dark Queen cupped her hand over the crystal and blew a shallow note over it. The crystal flared, emitting a pulse of light that shot to the heavens, as clear to view as an orbital strike from a lance battery. He took a step back, squinting against his expectation of a blinding shine, but the light hardly burned, much less blinded him. Impressed, he watched the beacon for a moment, then turned to watch for responses.

Their pursuers leapt to action, spurred by the signal. Sensing that their prey may have found a way out, or perhaps discovered an advantage, they pushed themselves into a wild rush. The others, those strangers ahead, hesitated, as Louk had expected they might. It might take them a while to decide how to progress. A wise commander would see the signal as an unknown, equally likely to be a trap or an ally. With luck, he would push his men on, to discover the source of the signal.

Until then, they needed to not get caught.

"We cannot wait here" he told them. "Push on."

The elves did not follow at first. Olga leaned against her staff, her tongue lolling, chest heaving with fitful breaths. Ever by her side, Chloe supported her, a grief-stricken horror on her face.

"Lady Olga, you must rest."

"No!" The dark elf pushed off of her staff and took a hesitant step forwards. Her balance wavered, and Chloe rushed to hold her up. "We… must… go on."

"She can't keep this up" Choe shouted, venting her anger at Louk. "Let her rest, you bastard."

"If we stay here, we'll die" Louk snapped back. Letting out a snarl of frustration, he stalked back to them and put a hand on Olga's shoulder. The half elf stiffened, clasping at her daggers, murder rising in her gaze. "Can you walk, or shall I carry you?"

Her words were slurred, nearly unintelligible. Olga gave a weak, possible nod, then slid to her knees, slumping against her staff.

"Throne damn it" Louk grunted. Ignoring the younger half elf's panicked cry and fussing over the half-conscious queen, he stepped past them and gauged the distance between the two bands. The newcomers had resumed their advance. They were still far away, but it appeared a small detachment had separated from the main band and were riding hard their way. Sliding his laspistol free of its holster, he checked the charge on its pack. It was a tic he had done hundreds of time since leaving the Black Fortress. Half the pack remained. He had three more on his belt. While they could be recharged, he did not look forward to needing to fire-charge them. "Fine, we stand here. Chloe, pull Olga to the side. That dune, lay her there. Give her shade."

"Where are you going" the elf yelled after him as she carefully aided her mistress off the road.

"To keep you alive" Louk called over his shoulder. He moved further into the open path, making himself as visible as possible, and pointed the laspistol in the air. "Fecking balls."

The laspistol squealed three times, evenly spaced shots that sparked through the darkening sky. The middle light on the pack darkened. He growled at the waste, and holstered the laspistol. Replacing the sidearm with Durendal, he whipped the blade free. The ancient blade glinted against the falling sunlight. It hungered for blood. One did not draw Durendal without tasting blood.

"Be still" he ordered, calming the spirit of the blade. Or maybe it was his own hunger. He often couldn't tell the difference. With nothing else to do, he waited. Sword drawn and held at his side, his back to Olga and Chloe, stance split so he could easily track both incoming parties of riders.

It was the newcomers who reached him first. Five riders in total, armed to the teeth but wearing no identifying colors. Black Dogs, of course, but judging by the lack of uniform in their armory, they were leaders among the mercenary warband.

The first rider wore a well-maintained burgundy hauberk, steel-plated greaves and pauldrons, and rode bareheaded. A kite shield protected his left side, dented and scratched but polished smooth, and he held a bastard sword in his right. He had a cautious look, though unbridled confidence danced behind that frown. His gaze flicked over to the elves for a moment, but returned immediately to Louk. It was the look of a man that had plenty of experience with studying foes. By appearance, he was the leader of these commanders. Louk tried to match a name, but he had heard only a few, and had little information to mark the Black Dogs lieutenants by face.

To his right, a woman with red hair pulled back by a bronze circlet regarded him and the women with interest, though her attention settled on the elves first and foremost. Squinting against the glare of the sun, the woman raised a hand to cover her eyes. She wore little armor other than leather vambraces. A red and yellow bodice complimented the cheery, natural smile that was not quite shown under her curiosity. Short pants skimmed her thighs, revealing toned legs shaped by extensive training and exercise. Paired swords hung from her horse's saddle. One with a cross hilt and straight blade, the other a thin and guarded rapier.

At the end of the formation, a pale blonde wearing a red dress uniform that could have been pulled from the Praetorian Guard sat tall on her horse, gazing openly at Louk with undisguised scrutiny. She wore a rich blue tricorn cocked at a jaunty angle, the kind of hat he had seen before in outlandish characters. White tights completed the outfit, with knee-high riding boots and a host of straps across her legs and waist holding component pouches and alchemical reagents. To his surprise, a flintlock carbine protruded from a treated leather sling. A brace of pistols hung on her hips, primed and ready for fire.

Opposite the women, a thin and small man in leather armor eyed them both. His right hand held a longbow, held strung but empty. On the opposite hip, a long knife stuck out from under his riding cloak. He was young, had a boisterous spirit, and did not know at all what to make of the situation. His uncertain gaze lingered quite unprofessionally on the women. Youth.

The last of the riders was a giant of a man , clad in full plate armor and wielding a thick spear and heavy shield. His armor covered every inch of his body save his face, as young as the one beside him, but thoughtful and concerned. Nudging his horse with his knees, he walked it to the side, separating himself a little from the others, giving himself more room should it come to blows. Smart man. His face was similar enough to the one beside him that Louk guessed them to be brothers. The hothead and the calm one. Of course it was so.

"I am Magnus" the center rider announced, easing his horse to a stop just a few feet away from Louk. His voice had a drawling brogue, exotic for this place, but familiar enough to Louk's own tongue that a sliver of comfort rose in his gut. The man had a fair look about him. Serious, intelligent, and coiled like a snake ready to strike. His horse stopped exactly where he intended: far enough to be out of reach, but close enough where a single leapt forward from the horse would put Louk in killing range. "Captain in the Black Dogs, commander of the Bladestorm. Who are you, and why are you travelling on foot in the Dark Queen's territory?"

Louk made a show of looking back over his shoulder, towards the rapidly approaching pursuers. He could count them now. Twenty in all. Still ticks on the horizon, but closing the distance faster than he liked. He did not have much time.

"Who do you serve" Louk demanded, gazing at each of the riders in turn. Their bewildered responses might have made him laugh, had the situation been otherwise.

"He's sunstruck" the one in dress uniform giggled, her voice an accented kiss of air on a dreary day. "Do you not know who the Black Dogs are, mon cher? Where ever have you been hiding?"

"Do you serve Celestine, or do you serve Vult?" Louk gestured at the elves. Olga was somewhat recovered now, though she still sat tiredly on the sand, while Chloe stood protectively in front, glaring at the riders with unashamed spite. "I am Louk Shannegh, the Reaper, empowered by Celestine Lucross to accompany the Black Dogs invasion of Garan and ensure the safe capture and delivery of Olga Discordia, the Dark Queen. There she is, and her retainer. We are travelling to Ken."

"Why do you have no horses?"

"Dead." His answer raised eyebrows, but the riders said nothing in response. The bowman leaned towards the plate-armored one and whispered something under his breath.

"And who are those behind you?" Magnus tipped his head. "You don't seem to count them as friends, yet we have never seen the demons riding horses. Are they the Dark Queen's servants giving chase?"

"Who do you serve" Louk growled. "I will not ask again."

"The Black Dogs fight for the people of Eostia" Magnus snapped, his impatience bleeding through his tone. "If you are so insistent on an answer, then yes, our highest loyalty is to the Goddess Reborn. Though Vult is our master, she is the one we fight for."

"Good enough" he muttered. Sticking Durendal into the sand, Louk held out his arms and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Vult and those with him have fallen to corruption. We took the Black Fortress, and Olga is my prisoner. But in sacking her fortress they unleashed a power that consumed them. The Vult you knew and his men are no more. What lies in its place are unholy monsters."

"He is sunstruck" the red-haired woman whispered back to the blonde. "Saints, he's crazy."

Magnus held up a placating hand to silence his fellows. "Karen, Diane, you are commanders of the Black Dogs, not gossips at the well."

They bowed their heads for a moment, chastened.

"Do you know how absurd that sounds" the man asked Louk.

"Yes. And I appreciate you listening. You do not have to believe my word alone. Walk with me, stand and speak with these riders. It will not be so impossible to believe then."

Despite the disbelieving stares from the riders, Magnus motioned for them to move forwards. They did, walking their mounts in a steady line, and their postures straightened as they braced themselves, falling easily into soldierly expectation. The big one on the end chuckled softly, but his bass voice rumbled like thunder over them all.

"That is Olga Discordia, no denying that. If he's got her in tow, there's got to be a bit of truth behind something, right George?"

"Shut up, Marc" the bowman ordered, though a playful grin flickered on his mouth as he dew an arrow and inspected it before setting it to string. "But sure, that's a pair of beauties. Blonde one's pretty eyes are sharper than your spear, though. Best watch your behavior around her."

"Because I am the one who needs behavioral advice" Marc grunted.

Keeping respectfully ahead, and too far away to cause them concern of a sudden attack, Louk waited for the riders with one hand resting on the pommel of his still planted sword. He listened to the idle banter between the riders, analyzing their words, their moods, and deciding whether or not he needed to kill them too. Judging by the innocence of their jokes, and the only passing attention to the elves, they had yet to be infected by the daemon's corruption.

Maybe he could salvage these ones.

To his left, the elves remained behind the protection of the dune, hiding from view of their pursuers. Olga rested on her side, propped up by an elbow, watching the riders with her listless, deceiving stare. Her retainer crouched low, hiding her silhouette over the slope, but drew her daggers and held them parallel to the ground. The young one's eagerness radiated from her like a soft flame on a dark night.

The incoming riders did not slow until it was nearly too late. Armored in the recognizable black leather of the Kuroinu, faces covered by silk masks, they whipped their horses furiously in the last legs of the approach. For a moment it appeared they might charge straight into Louk and the others, but at the last moment they viciously dragged their horses to a stop. The closest kicked up merely feet away, its hooves slashing the air in front of his face. Weapons remained sheathed, but there was no mistaking the murderous intent in their eyes, nor the predatory looks they tossed about, seeking the surrounding dunes like hunting animals until they caught sight of the two elves. As one, their gazes snapped over to the elves, and eager hands stretched to their blades. Only when the leader lifted an imperious hand did they stand down.

"Hail, Ulysses" Magnus greeted, a cool edge in his voice that had not been present when speaking to Louk. Not daring to turn back and check, Louk let himself imagine the caution written on Magnus' face. "Well met."

"You answer the call" Ulysses said, turning his head slightly to inspect the captains. Only slightly muffled by the silk covering the lower half of his face, the lieutenant nevertheless slithered his words, drawing them through his mask like honey through fishnet stockings. "The vaunted Bladestorm rides to the master."

"We ride to join Vult, aye. This man has some troubling things he's on about. I was hoping you could clear the air."

"The Reaper tells no lies" the man replied. Ulysses' hand, held to halt his companions, twisted, pointing commandingly at Olga and Chloe. "These belong to the master. Return them to us, and join."

"Now, we may have missed something between you all setting out for the Black Fortress and now" Karen interjected, incredulity in her tone. "But we all know the orders. Olga Discordia goes to Celestine."

"Shut your mouth, cocksleeve" one of the Kuroinu howled. A ripple of disgruntled murmurers spread among the Kuroinu riders. More than one touched their weapons. Again, Ulysses silenced them with an upraised hand.

"Watch your bloody mouth" the bowman snarled.

"George" Magnus snapped, silencing him as well. "Ulysses, you sound different then when we last shared words. I fear I cannot reconcile this change in your attitude either. You were always a man of orders. What's this lack of discipline?"

"Come with us to the master, and you will see many things" the Kuroinu captain promised.

"I don't think I can do that" Magnus said, sounding entirely apologetic. "Our charge is to bring the Dark Queen to Celestine."

"I cannot allow you to do that."

In a sudden burst of motion, Ulysses flicked his other hand out, hurling a hidden blade. The knife whipped across the air with the speed of an arrow loosed from a strong bowman. Magnus flinched to the side, and his sword leapt out of its scabbard with lightning speed. The half-drawn blade caught the dagger at an angle, deflecting it harmlessly into the air. The dagger was still flickering in the fading sunlight when the Kuroinu kicked their horses into a charge.

Throwing himself back and away from the incoming horses, Louk ripped Durendal free of the ground in a spray of sand. He rolled once, slipping between the horses of the Bladestorm captains, and came up on his feet, sword held in guard, the fury of battle spilling like wildfire across his mind. This was a confrontation he had been waiting for days to begin. The scent of soon-to-be-spilled blood filled the air.

It was the blonde woman who drew first blood.

Drawing her pistols in a single effortless motion, the woman cocked both hammers back with dextrous thumb movements and leveled one at the Kuroinu. There was no hesitation, no reluctance for drawing down on her former comrades. Just a soft curse in an elegant variant of the common tongue he did not recognize, and then the thunderclap bang of her archaic powder weapon. Her target leapt off its horse, a spurt of blood punching in its wake as her shot took him in the chest. Just as quick to the draw, the bowman George drew back and let loose a shot that took his target in the face. At such short range, the arrow pierced the man's skull and sprouted halfway out the back. Instantly slain, the rider jerked spasmodically and slipped from his horse.

Then it became bladework. The lines clashed with a rippling ring of metal on metal, of neighing horses and shrieking blades. As the only combatant on foot, Louk dodged and danced, avoiding kicking hooves as much as slashing blades. Durendal shot out as a Kuroinu trotted past, spilling free of the tangle of riders. The elder blade split the man from hip to shoulder. Screaming in agony, the man swerved his mount away, only to catch Magnus' backswing that buried itself in his chest.

Four of the Kuroinu surrounded the one called Karen. The lightly armed woman was a flurry of motion, her mismatched swords slicing the air so swiftly they may as well have been full shields. Unable to launch an attack while so beset, she dug her heels into her horse and shot forwards, sliding out from the press, and launched a backwards thrust as the last one passed. Her rapier caught the man in the throat.

Rushing to the woman's aid, Louk threw himself into one of the rider's horses. The horse toppled with a scream and the Kuroinu slammed into the ground. Before he could recover, Louk flicked Durendal in a broad sweep, cutting his head from his shoulders. Another of the Kuroinu turned on him, and he blocked two heavy swings before spinning under the man's reach and bringing Durendal down on the man's back with enough force to buckle the man's horse to its knees.

The last went to chase Karen, but his sword was deflected by a slapping strike from a flintlock pistol. Diane pushed his blade aside, and bent backwards until her shoulders touched her horse's rump when the Kuroinu launched a furious counter stroke. Shoving her second pistol under the man's chin, she pulled the trigger and his head exploded in a cloud of gore. His corpse slumped down to the join the growing carpet of Kuroinu dead.

It was hard to see past the milling horses, but Louk counted the falling bodies, the number of heartbeats dropping from the fight. A dozen already, in the span of only a few seconds. The Bladestorm were good. They matched well on horse. Throne knew how good they could be on the ground. George's horse suddenly galloped past minus its rider. Louk did not spare a moment to pity his death.

Then the bowman rose up from clinging to the horse's side. Nocking another arrow onto his bow, he launched it into the fray, and another Kuroinu toppled from his horse.

"Damn you" he shouted. "Come back to your senses!"

"I don't think they have those" Karen howled back, a note of laughter in her voice. Her rapier had returned to its scabbard and she wheeled her horse to face down a pair of Kuroinu that detached from the melee. "These fools have clearly lost their minds."

Through the sprawling battle, Louk watched Magnus standing tall in his stirrups, blocking multiple Kuroinu at once with his shield even as he battered away at Ulysses with his sword. The two leaders stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, their horses butting against each other. Marc, the armored one, ringed the melee, trying again and again to close to Magnus' side, but a trio of Kuroinu held him at bay. Two more lay dead on the ground, gaping wounds in their bodies from his thick spear.

A pair attempted to slink away, breaking out of the fight and circling towards the elves. Chloe eyed their approach with grim determination, remaining low to the ground. I will protect you with my life, Lady Olga she told her mistress. Too far away to hear, but Louk saw the rage in the half elf's expression. That these men had dared to assault Olga. That they dared to come after them, chase them like animals, and now thought to kill or capture them. If the half elf possessed the power to kill with a look, the two would have died instantly.

His hand darted under his jacket for the laspistol. They were too far away to reach even if he sprinted to stop them.

The crack of another powder weapon sent one of the Kuroinu lurching to the side. Diane galloped past him, tucking her carbine back into its sleeve. "Oh no you don't!"

Surprised by the unexpected shot, the second man risked a glance back, checking to see if another shot might come for him. That was when Chloe struck. Exploding from her position in a streak, the half elf scrambled up the slope a few steps before launching herself into the air. She struck the man level, legs spearing past his head. With a savage thrust she clamped her thighs around the man's face and twisted, using her momentum to pull the man from his saddle and send them both spilling to the ground below. The half elf recovered in a flash, rising to her feet in a spray of sand, and sank both her daggers into the man's chest.

The whistle of an incoming blade alerted Louk to a rider bearing down on his backside. Ducking under the swing, folding in on himself until her nearly kissed the ground, Louk snatched up a fallen Kuroinu's saber and cut savagely into the path of the horse. The simple iron sword severed tissue and muscle, and the horse slammed to the ground, throwing its rider. The Kuroinu was still scrambling to his feet when Louk grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and cut his head off with a brutal stroke. Holding the head for a fraction of a second, Louk gazed at the offering. He felt the surging pleasure of the kill, the ecstasy of a skull claimed for th-

Hurling the man's head away with disgust, Louk bit down on his tongue until he tasted the sweet nectar of his lifeblood. A shudder swept over him, and he forced his mind to calm, to seek the memorizations that he had been taught.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.

The battle was over. The Kuroinu had all fallen, save Ulysses. Vult's lieutenant had pulled free of the combat, and now sat fitfully on his horse, eyeing the five captains of the Bladestorm with rage. He made no move to close again, no doubt understanding his chances against the five of them and Louk were not favorable. The bodies of his slain comrades seemed to have little bearing on him.

"You fools" Ulysses hissed. "The master offers freedom, yet you cling to your pathetic honor."

"I don't know what happened to you" Magnus huffed, sucking in long breaths as he regained his composure. Despite coming out of the brawl with not visible wounds, he had taken a beating, and it showed. His shield had numerous dents on it, and his sword showed notches. "Come with us, Ulysses. Surrender, and we will see to undoing what madness has descended on you."

"Madness?" The Kuroinu cackled loudly, his voice spilling into discordant notes that caused the riders to flinch. "It is you who are mad. You think to stand against the gods themselves! You will all die in fruitless struggle, and those you seek to protect will be ravaged by the glories of our rightful master."

An arrow sprouted from Ulysses' chest. Shot at close range, it penetrated his cavalry breastplate with ease. It should have killed him. The arrow took him in the heart, sinking halfway to the fletching through his body. But Ulysses merely gasped, a pleasured expression twisting his face. He reached up to grab the arrow, and rather than pulling it out, he snapped it off and hurled the broken half back at them.

"You were offered" Ulysses announced. "And you have spat in the eye of the gods. Take your whore-queen. Run back to Ken. It does not matter. We will find you. Our master will find you all."

The Kuroinu lieutenant wheeled his horse and took off, galloping back in the direction of the Black Fortress. Confusion remained in his wake. The uneasy dread radiating from the Bladestorm captains could not be missed. More than one stared off after their former comrade.

"Well then" Magnus said at last. He put his weapons away and dismounted, landing stiffly on his feet. At his signal, the others dismounted as well. Guiding his horse alongside, Magnus approached Louk and held out his hand. "I don't know what that was, but you were right. Something has gone terribly wrong. The Bladestorm will escort you back to Ken. You will be safe with us."