Review Responses

SPARTAN-626:

Thanks, man, it had been a while, yes. Honestly, I should have added that during the fight, maybe in the future I can slip that in there.

While the Legion is a shadow of its former self, that being they're all undead now, as you said a few have retained some sentience, albeit as you'll be reading, it's not that sort of sentience. And yes, loyalty never dies, even in death.

Yep, the Twilight Elves are coming. Guess, I'll be using The Argyrid Empire as the name then.

I'm not sure if I want to do a Kuroinu x modern military gate-style fanfic. Not planning to write new fics atm, not with what's on personally for me.

Much appreciated man, I hope you'll enjoy this one!

Guest:

Don't worry, we will get there eventually. As for the characters from Gaiden, I'm only finding out about them now, I didn't know there was another game. I was aware of Kuroinu, Kuroinu 2 and Elf Mura no Kanraku (with Anna Florence and Grace Campbell). I might add them in the future. Thanks for letting me know about this. xD

King0P0wers:

Everything has a cost, just that Nero will have to learn the hard way in the aftermath. Yeah, as I said, maybe I'll add that in the future.

Chronos0305:

Nero will have allies. That is much confirmed.

Harbinger27, Janny092 & SirSlaps:

Much appreciated!

Intermission

What was once the Town of Judas is little more than flame and devastation.

The searing flames devoured buildings and greenery and illuminated the night sky. Choking smoke shrouded the night sky. The multitude of corpses lay in cobblestone streets where their blood congregated into scarlet streams and pools.

The crackling of flames, the hysteric screams - both terrified and dying. The stabbing and slashing of flesh - whether guilt or innocence - and the clashing of metal, all assembled into a chaotic cacophony.

It was a scene straight from hell.

A hellish nightmare of rampant yet merciless destruction.

Many fleeing citizens and fighters ran down Judas' main streets, only to run themselves onto the awaiting sarissas of The Pezhetairoi. Slowly, yet methodically, the

undead phalanxes marched forward, stabbing and skewering any unfortunate enough to come within striking distance of their pikes.

Many died upon their sarissas, skewered like animals. Some begged for their lives, even kneeling before them, begging for their lives to be spared.

Their pleas were left unheard.

A priest and a woman were cornered at a wall. In a desperate act to preserve his life, the cowardly priest shoved the woman into the wall of spears, subsequently getting her killed as a flurry of sarissas skewered her chest and heart. His life was prolonged by only a few seconds, he attempted to scale up the wall behind him, but with his abnormally obese body, he only ended up collapsing onto the floor. In the end, he met the same fate as the woman he sacrificed to the undead, scores of rusted pikes impaling his fat flesh.

Nearby, a man and his two slaves ran. His slaves were the first to turn the corner and when the man followed behind, he witnessed the horrific sight of his pets being skewered by the advancing undead. He hesitated, possibly disheartened by the death of his favourite slaves, whom he abusively and sadistically treated like animals. This lapse of movement cost his life, a sarissa gruesomely piercing into his mouth and out from his back.

In the end, all died the same.

Impaled and skewered at the end of sarissas as they marched ever forward.

The lucky few who'd survive their cold, methodic culling, who'd attempt to preserve their dying lives, would only meet a swift end by the blades of the Thorakitai. Armed with rotten oval shields and rusty swords, they lagged behind the pike wall, killing any who survived the wall of spears with their rusted blades.

Together, these two formations of The Myrmidons cleared the main streets of Judas of life.

The survivors and any other fleeing citizens would have to flee into alleyways and tight crevices to survive a little bit longer.

But nowhere, in this burning, crumbling settlement is safe.

A wounded militia attempted to crawl to safety, clutching his lacerated shoulder. Focused on preserving his lie that he was ignorant of a Myrmidon Lochagos (Captain) walking towards him. The pitiful man was held up by the scruff of his hair and proceeded to have his throat slashed open, fresh ichor added to the growing rivers of red beneath their feet.

This Lochago stood taller than his brethren around him. Clad in blackened yet fractured armour, adorned with menacing spikes and faint silver trimmings, holding an Aspis (Shield) in one hand - that bore the heraldry of a bright silver horn - and an Xiphon in another. His chest plate was riddled with remains of arrows whilst a broken shaft of a polearm was lodged deep into his back, yet doing little to hinder his movements.

A burning singular silver eye scanned the merciless slaughter in front of him. Its rotten mind analysed their progress and calculated the time it would take for them to reach their intended destination; the town hall that stood in the centre, where it seemed that many of their targets were fleeing.

"Λοχαγοσ! (Captain)"

A dead and guttural voice called out the silver-eyed Lochagos. Turning around, the Captain was greeted by another walking towards him, though his armour and colour were more tattered and duller than his own.

"Θευ εσκαπε το θε ριυερ! (They escape to the river!)"

"Κομπανιονς! ριδε ανδ κιλλ! (Companions! Ride them down!)"

"Vai! Λοχαγοσ Percival! (Yes! Captain Percival!)"

A bloodied hand grasped the undead's armoured boot, its owner gazing up at the undead warrior, pleading pitifully to spare him. He was ruthlessly slain, a rusty blade severing the top segment of his skull from his head.

"Φορωαρδ!" Percival ordered. "Kill them all!"

"NO! PLEASE! NOOO-AAUGHH!"

An overly obese man - a member of the nobility, recognisable by his extravagant clothing - had his screaming, pitiful face crushed in the palms of a Myrmidon warrior.

Crimson blood spurted from open orifices, rushing down the blackened, armoured gauntlets of the Myrmidon. Once the screams fell silent, the warrior merely discarded it before moving forward, repeating its bloody endeavour to the next unfortunate victim.

These warriors stood taller and appeared more menacingly than their undead compatriots. Clad in discoloured burgundy armour, additional armour platings and were spikier than the rest of his undead kin, with dull bronze trimmings, ember runes, dents and holes decorating it's armour.

The warrior stepped over a dismembered woman's leg, heedless of her piercing screams, crushing bones and blood vomiting from her fatal wound, swiftly sending her to the afterlife without effort.

A couple of feet from the Myrmidon stood a Black Dog, leaning against the alley's wall, a sword clutched tightly in his remaining hand. The wounded dog lashed out at the undead warrior, however, his arm was easily caught and wrenched from his body in a bloody fashion. Fresh blood stained the undead's armour, some even splattering onto the warrior's helm. Spine-chillingly, the blood made the armour appear much brighter.

For his failed endeavour, the warrior was rewarded with the return of his arm, wrenched deep in his stomach and piercing through his spine.

Similar acts of violence played out within the alleyway. A perverse elucidation of a Nun being hacked and butchered by a hefty great axe. Another obese noble had his head smashed against a bloodied brick wall. The upper portion of a male adolescent, separated from his bottom part in gory fashion. These Myrmidons showed no restraint or remorse. Only unadulterated and wrathful rage.

It did not take long for the living to depart and the corpses to pile. The cacophony of blood ending in violent carnage. Their wrathful deed done, they simply stood. Unfazed from the gruesome aftermath of their actions.

A Myrmidon - the same one that had crushed the noble's face in its palms - loomed over a survivor; a small Hafling desperately crawling from the slaughter, her frightened, fragile form caked in blood and gore. A terrified scream escaped her mouth as the undead warrior's heavy boot pinned her in place. A mace, braided with organic matter, was raised and-

*Glurk!*

Only for an armoured fist to emerge from the warrior's chest and abruptly halt its movements. The sudden violence forced the warrior onto its knees, a garbled noise - an amalgamation of a screech and the roaring of flames - reverberated from its rusted helm. It lasted for a brief moment, not even a full second, before its head was wrenched gruesomely from its shoulders.

The headless corpse fell forward, nearly falling on top of the confused yet much more frightened halfling, as another much taller and menacing Myrmidon stood above her. Its armour dented and bore the same spikes and bronze trimmings as the rest of his kin yet its colours still retained some resemblance of vibrancy. Burning amber eyes stared coldly at the petrified, unmoving halfling, who could only stare helplessly back. So fearful she was, that she accidentally wetted herself.

And then…she fainted.

It was simply too much for the poor female.

An armour glazed in scarlet ichor, hovering inches above the unconscious halfling's head. Its owner's actions were halted by the taller Myrmidon, who pulled the warrior back.

"Ω-υ?"

A snarl from the taller Myrmidon combined with a burning glare immediately quieted the warrior. The death stare would be projected to the rest of the berserking warriors. The message was simple but clear. He would not tolerate any and all objections.

With surprising gentleness, the tall Myrmidon picked up the unconscious halfling and walked towards an abandoned nearby cage. Smoothly, it laid the young halfling into the cage before closing it for her safety.

"Ωε κιλλ αλλ-."

One of the heavily armoured Myrmidons spoke with disapproval.

"No…Innocent."

"Νονε ιννοκεντ. (None Innocent)"

"...No…harm…to her." The warrior insisted, this time much more forcibly.

"Θατσ-"

"NO. HARM. UNDERSTOOD!?"

"…As. You wish…Khairn."

Begrudgingly, they left, leaving Khairn alone with the Halfling.

"...Safe…Stay. You. Stay. Here."

He hoped, even if saying it provided with a meritless result, that the Halfling would have heard him to some degree. Her temporary imprisonment would be her safe haven from the carnage around her.

"Khairn!"

Another of these Butchers entered the alleyway, calling Khairn's name.

"Balthazar, Καλλς υου."

Khairn growled, turning his attention to the warrior.

"Ω-υ?"

"Φιναλ πυσ-. Υου. Λεαδ."

"Balthazar, Ω-ατ ις -ε δοινγ?"

"Come on, Grubby, put some muscle into it! We have to get Master out of here!"

Meanwhile, amidst the carnage and chaos, Gnarl, who had swiftly teleported to Judas in the aftermath of the ritual, Neia and the remaining Minions were attempting to carry their unconscious Master to immediate safety. Utilising the chaos and pandemonium around them, they would bring Nero to Gnarl's teleportation circle.

The only problem to this plan, that is also working against them, is that same chaos and pandemonium.

Everywhere the Minions had fled to, into another street, an alleyway or avenue, they were met with fleeing citizens and rampaging undead. There was no safe, clear way for them to get to their destination, all made more complicated by the unexpected yet unnecessary attacks from small roving bands of undead.

Though the Minions were able to repel each attack, they became more and more difficult to deal with. Especially against those hulking spiky armoured warriors and that horseman, whose upper half was melted to the back of its own mount.

It was quite difficult to bring it down. In hindsight, these undead companions of their Master are unusually tougher and stronger than normal undead. Nearly gave them a hard time if it weren't for the Minions swamping them with their still far superior numerical advantage.

These undead aren't of the typical kind. The decrepitly, shambling, skeletal kind that Gnarl was honestly expecting the Master's undead friends to come back as. No, these undead, fight and move as though they were still alive. As the hardened, skillful & proficient warriors that their Master has always talked about.

Except the rampaging and killing everything on sight doesn't seem…professional…? Yes, that's the word!

It is quite understandable. They were betrayed and butchered after all.

Nonetheless, they still need to get out of here. Keep away till they have calmed down. Then, maybe try and talk to them.

But first, they need to get to the teleportation circle. Fast.

Just as Gnarl, the Minions & Neia turned into an empty yet desolated street, the ground shook violently as the earth before them twisted and contorted upwards. A solid wall of jagged rock and earth, unintentionally smeared with decapitated limbs and bright red ichor, now stood in front of them, obstructing their route of escape.

Whilst a wall of shimmering silvery shields and sarissas blocked the other side.

"A trap!"

Neia, along with Gnarl and Nero's unconscious form were swiftly moved back as the remaining Minions hastily formed a battleline to protect them. The phalanx marched forward, the spearwall inching dangerously close, which forced the Minions back to the rockwall behind them. Then, suddenly, the Phalanx stopped, the sharpened tips of their sarissas mere inches from the Minion's faces.

Not that it frightened the little creatures. The sudden unwillingness by their opponents to fight them riled up the Minions as they jeered and taunted them even more. The only ones who didn't were both Neia & Gnarl.

"W-why haven't th-they…?" Neia quivered, taking a step back. Only she was confused and frightened from their unusual stance. Gnarl, however, was simply analysing the undead's actions with a narrowed glare. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

His brooding wouldn't take long.

Abruptly as they had appeared, the Myrmidons assumed a passive stance, raising their sarissas upwards and undoing their shields before a section of them stepped aside to allow a lone Myrmidon to step forward.

Unlike the other undead warriors, this lone undead wore a distinguished helm, deprived of its golden colours, draped in a tattered grey cloak that hid its tarnished auric armour. Unlike its other undead compatriots it held a rusted, gnarled staff in one of its hands and what appeared to be a small book in its other.

This lone auric Myrmidon stood in front of the assembled Minions, staring down disdainfully at them.

"That is far enough, mongrel abductors. You will hand over our Lord to us."

"I-I'm sorry what…?" Neia asked, confused. "But we're not kidnappers… please you have to believe us! We're not kidnappers-!"

"Thy words and actions are unaligned, girl." The undead responded harshly, earning fearful recoil from Neia. "If so, why do you not bring him to the safety of His Legion? Thine actions are clear. You seek only to take our precious Lord away!"

At once, The Myrmidons behind the auric armoured lowered their sarissas once more, sparking a provocative response from The Minions themselves.

Neia at this point was too terrified to speak terrified as her life flashed before her eyes, and so Gnarl had little choice but to step forward.

"It was the most prudent course of action," he spoke. "With the town in total chaos, bringing our Lord out of this settlement would be the safest option. Had your warriors not attacked us we would have brought him to safety by now."

"An untenable fable," the Auric undead replied in disbelief. "Why would we attack our own lord? You would assume that I would believe the words of curs like you?"

"B-but it's true!" spoke Neia. "T-they attacked us without warning! Those red-armoured things! We barely had a chance to escape!"

The Auric undead glared at the young girl, not believing for a moment her words. That is, till the description of blood-red armour registered within his decaying mind. Only then did its glare soften, only by a small margin.

"Like it or not, we were attacked without cause and we're forced into this alternative," spoke Gnarl. "We simply didn't have a choice."

The undead turned its gaze to Gnarl.

"...the ones responsible must have been our Berserkers." The undead answered, letting a sigh escape from his lips. "They should not have gone after you. Their minds once battle commences…is simply ain't their own."

"As we unfortunately have experienced ourselves." Gnarl answered sarcastically.

"They shouldn't have gone after you. I will address their commanding officer once the destruction of this town is concluded. Regardless, yet I am not fully convinced of your credulity."

"An understandable temperament to have, but, I would simply ask of you to give us a chance. We both desire nothing more than to aid our Master in fulfilling his ambitions. We wouldn't think of betraying him, not after finally finding an Overlord after so long. Give us the chance to prove our worth, I promise that you will not regret putting trust in another group again"

"...I still do not trust you, but I am willing to allow you to prove yourselves to us."

He raised his hand, prompting the Myrmidons behind him to stand down once again. As they stood down, so too did the rest of The Minions.

"Thank you, good sir. I am Gnarl. Loyal adviser to our Master."

"I am Balthazar of The Myrmidons. I shall warn you now, should treachery be found within you, we will not hesitate in killing you. Any threat to our Lord will be eliminated with extreme prejudice."

Gnarl nodded.

"Good."

By early morning the town of Judas would be no more.

Man, woman, child, Black Dog and monster within its confinements were butchered without remorse, their charred, mangled remains littering its broken streets. Its refurbished, pristine buildings have all been reduced to rubble once again.

A heavy rotting stench hung in the air, attracting swarms of unpleasant flies as they feasted on what fresh untouched cadavers they could find. Rivers of ichor that once filled the streets have nearly evaporated, leaving behind grim nauseating stains of dark red.

The Devastation of Judas, as it would soon to be known, was as ruthless as it was destructive.

It is truly a horrific sight.

An entire settlement, reduced to almost nothing.

Such acts, spurn by spiteful hate, were but a small glimpse of what's to come.

An unfettered flame of wrath and vengeance that may threaten to consume the entirety of Eostia, that shall decimate the Black Dogs and their treacherous allies.

This is only the beginning.

The beginning of Nero's Dynasty.

I've returned.

I apologise for taking too long. Life just got ahead of me.

Once again, I bring you more glorious Overlord action. A smaller chapter than my usual ones, but enough to highlight certain things - particularly with the Myrmidons, their subsequent rampage and the inner mental state of some of the Myrmidon Leaders.

Next Chapter will pick up with Nero and also him regretting/coming to terms with what he has done, and if it suits the Chapter, will also include some more worldbuilding snippets, mainly on the factions who'll be coming soon. Small clue; look to other fantasy doujins. xD