The sun, once a warm orange globe hanging on the horizon, was suffocated behind a veil of smoke— its light barely cutting through the black, rolling clouds. The sky was a twisted, bruised thing, stars blotted out by the ashen blizzard that fell from above. The air reeked of sulfur, char, and death. Ash rained in soft whispers, blanketing the Evergreen Forest in a dull, gray coat.
It drifted down over the trees— clinging to the leaves, and settling onto the battlements of the Forgehart Clan's stronghold, with its once-proud stone walls now shadowed by ruin.
On the battlements, orcs stood rigid beneath the weight of their heavy orichalcum armor— the blood-red sigils of their clan faintly glowing on their chests and shields. They manned the ballistas, their thick fingers gripping the crossbows and loading bolts with an uneasy calm. Their dark eyes scanned the forest's edge, towards the cliffs near the base of the Iron Flower Mountains— as if expecting something to crawl out of the haze.
"Quiet," one of them muttered, with their thick tusks jutting out as he strained to listen. Another orc paused mid-reload— his ears twitching.
Then came the sound. A distant whirr, faint at first, but growing louder, sharp, unfamiliar. The orcs' faces twisted in confusion. It was a sound they did not know— a mechanical screech that seemed alien in the stillness of the woods. But understanding dawned quickly enough. A mortar's whistle pierced the air. Eyes widened.
BOOM.
The blast tore through the battlements with a deafening roar. One of the orc warriors, positioned at the ballista, was hit directly. His body was engulfed in a hellish blossom of fire, with his armor warping and melting as the incinerating round exploded on contact.
He didn't even have time to scream— his insides ruptured, with his torso blasted apart as he was thrown from the ramparts, a burning, ragged mess. His body hit the stone streets below with a sickening crack— rolling in flames, still twitching as his flesh charred.
"FALL BACK!" One of the surviving orcs barked, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. They abandoned the battlements in droves— heavy footsteps pounding against the stone as they scrambled down the stairwells, and leaving their posts to the growing inferno.
Mortar after mortar rained down— tearing the stronghold apart with every hit. The reinforced steel buildings crumbled under the relentless bombardment— forges collapsed in on themselves as fire licked at their sides, and flames danced across the once-proud streets.
As the orcs fled, desperate to escape the destruction, they were picked off— thunk.
One orc warrior, mid-sprint, jerked back— his helmet cracked as an armor-piercing round drilled through it— spraying blood and brain matter across the street.
Another orc stumbled, the side of his head blown apart by a sniper round, his body crumpling into a heap.
Those still alive raised their crossbows, and began aiming blindly toward the cliffs.
They never got the chance to fire.
Heads exploded with sickening wet pops, bodies collapsing in graphic detail— their skulls nothing but mangled, bloody ruins.
The orcs who survived the initial onslaught fled deeper into the burning stronghold, while ducking and weaving through flames that engulfed their homes. The streets were rivers of fire, with the heat intense enough to scorch the air itself. But there was no time for thought, only instinct— the primal urge to survive pushing them toward the chieftain's longhouse, where hope still lingered.
They skidded to a halt, breathless, panting, with their weapons raised. But something was wrong.
The bombardment had stopped.
Silence fell over them like a shroud. Confused, they turned back, their eyes darting around in a panic.
"What— What is this…?" One of them murmured— his voice trembling as he raised his crossbow to the sky.
Then they saw it.
Dark shapes emerging from the clouds— descending like wraiths from the sky. They were, black, hulking figures, humanoid, but larger, all encased in armor as dark as the smoke they fell from. The orcs' blood ran cold.
Black templars.
The first to land came down with the force of a meteor— his power armor impacting the cobbled streets with a thundering crash. The orc nearest him, crossbow aimed shakily at the Templar's feet, was crushed in an instant— a booted foot slamming down on him, reducing his body to a pulp of splintered bone and shredded muscle.
"IMPERIALS!" The orcs cried out, while raising their weapons— trying to fire.
More templars rained down from the sky— each landing with bone-shattering force, and their armor impervious to the flames licking at their feet. Orcs that dared to fight back were slaughtered before they could blink— those who managed to fire their crossbows saw their bolts ping harmlessly off their thick, laminated armor.
The orcs' defiance lasted mere moments.
The templars raised their rivet rifles, the barrels glowing faintly as they powered up. Then, in a chorus of mechanical whirs, the guns unleashed a torrent of fire.
Six-inch rivets spat from their weapons at a blistering rate— tearing through the orcs in a brutal hailstorm of metal. Blood sprayed in great arcs, with limbs torn clean from bodies as the rivets punched through armor like wet paper. Orcs exploded into bloody chunks, with their bodies liquefied by the sheer volume of rounds. The streets became slick with gore, and the ground soaked in the remains of the fallen.
Overhead, Aldric flew through the sky— the back thrusters of his Full Armored suit glowing with intense energy. His mechanical arms attached to the tops of his massive back module extended out, with each holding a massive laminated shield in front of him— deflecting the barrage of spells cast by the orc shamans rushing out from the longhouse.
The shields shimmered with each impact, but Aldric's flight path never wavered.
"Engaging hostiles," Aldric muttered, with his voice calm, almost bored. He glanced down at the shamans, their chanting growing louder, and more desperate.
With a flick of his wrist, the missile defense systems of his back module activated. Small metal flaps opened across his armor as well, and with a mechanical hum, the micro-missiles deployed.
In an instant, they shot down from the sky— a rain of explosive death. The orc shamans had no time to react— the missiles hit them with pinpoint accuracy, detonating in a violent, fiery blaze.
Bodies were torn apart in the blast, and limbs were sent flying as the reinforcements that had flooded the streets were reduced to little more than bloody scraps.
Below, the black templars switched their tactics. Their wrist modules activated with a hiss— spewing streams of magic-infused napalm across the remaining orcs. The fire clung to their skin— melting armor and flesh alike. The air was filled with the agonized screams of orcs as their bodies bubbled and melted, with some collapsing to the ground, writhing as their limbs disintegrated beneath them.
The napalm burned with a heat that was almost sentient, and consumed everything in its path.
Then came a roar— deep and guttural.
Kog'rath, the berserker chieftain of the Forgehart Clan, burst through the flames, with his massive frame alight, but undeterred. His eyes were wild, and dark energy surged through him— wrapping him in a protective shroud. The flames licked at his skin, but he paid them no mind. His battle axe was held high, with black runes pulsing with energy as he barreled toward Aldric— a beast in the midst of the carnage.
"BLACKWOOOOOOOOD!" Kog'rath bellowed, with his voice like thunder. He leapt through the air, his axe raised to strike, and the ground shaking with his fury.
Aldric's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet. Without a word at first, he extended his armored arm. A beam of brilliant yellow light shot from his wrist— extending into a crackling blade.
"The chieftain…? What a welcomed surprise," Aldric muttered to himself, while watching as Kog'rath hurtled toward him. "And here I thought you'd try to hide from me… Valiant until the end, now aren't we?"
The air hissed as Aldric activated his back thrusters, propelling himself downward at supersonic speeds— breaking the sound barrier.
Kog'rath's axe swung wide, missing by a fraction of a second. Aldric landed with Earth-shattering force— cratering the burning streets, with one knee bent, and his arm outstretched. The yellow beam of energy retracted back into his wrist module as quickly as it had appeared.
Behind him, Kog'rath's body, mutilated and scorched, rained down in pieces— chunks of flesh and bone scattering across the stone.
Aldric rose to his feet, slowly, calmly, the fires of the stronghold flickering around him. His black templars circled, twenty-five figures clad in the same fearsome armor, standing silently amidst the wreckage, with flames reflecting in their visors.
Aldric raised a hand, gesturing toward the burning longhouse. "The reinforcements came from there. Echo Team, investigate the inside. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie Delta—spread out. Search for the chieftain's daughter— a small little runt who was next for the throne."
The templars then saluted in unison, with their movements sharp, practiced. Aldric's voice boomed, echoing through the burning ruins.
"For Great Victoria! Glory to the Empire!"
Ash fell like snow, coating the dense, black woods around the Forgehart Stronghold. It drifted down in a steady, silent rain, settling over the platoon stationed in the perimeter.
The soldiers of the Royal Army— their armor dusted in the pale ash— stood guard over their explosive ordinance and mortar launchers, with their faces concealed beneath soot-streaked helmets. The air was thick, oppressive with the scent of smoke, and the eerie quiet made every rustle of the wind feel like a threat.
At the center of the platoon, the knight in charge stood on alert, with their eyes narrowed, scanning the treeline. A lever-action rifle rested in their hands, with the wood stock worn smooth from use. The knight's armor clinked softly with each movement— their gaze keen, unwavering.
They weren't just looking— they were listening, their body tensed with anticipation. Something was wrong. The quiet was too deep, too unnatural.
Then they heard it— a faint snap in the underbrush. Their heart skipped. It was subtle, but unmistakable: a tripwire, snapping.
In a heartbeat, the knight swung their rifle to the left, before firing three quick rounds into the darkness— each shot echoing through the stillness like thunder. The soldiers around them stiffened, rifles raised, but they were too late to catch a target in their sights.
Out of the shadows, a slender figure stumbled into view— a female orc rogue, cloaked in black, her green skin blending into the dark of the forest.
Her eyes widened in shock as the magically infused rounds struck her mid-leap. She convulsed violently, with her body writhing and distorting as the enchanted lead coursed through her veins— turning her flesh to brittle ash. In seconds, she collapsed into a pile of dust, scattered by the ashfall.
For a brief moment, silence returned.
Then— WHOOSH.
From the opposite side, two hill goblins hidden in the branches released their explosive bolts— the sharp hiss of projectiles splitting the air. They struck true— slamming into the mortar launcher and the stacked explosive ordinance with brutal precision.
The knight's reflexes kicked in. Eyes wide, they threw up their free hand, chanting under their breath. A shimmering barrier of light flickered into existence just as the explosives detonated. The blast wave hit them like a hammer, with the ground shaking beneath their feet. Flames and debris shot into the air, consuming half the platoon in an instant.
Shrapnel flew in all directions, with metal and stone embedding themselves into the soldiers caught in the open. Bodies were thrown back, and screams mixed with the deafening roar of the explosion.
The knight, protected by their hastily cast spell, gritted their teeth as the shockwave pushed them back, the barrier holding strong. But the damage was done— their mortar had been destroyed, along with the rest of their 81mm ammunition.
"Over there!" One of the surviving soldiers yelled, while raising their rifle toward the goblins.
The goblins turned to flee into the trees— their small forms agile and quick. But the soldiers opened fire— their bullets tearing through the air.
One goblin was hit square in the back of the head— its body crumpling lifelessly to the ground. The other managed to escape, though not unscathed. A round clipped its shoulder, another lodging painfully into its buttocks— causing the creature to yelp in pain as it disappeared into the underbrush, leaving a trail of blood.
The knight swore under their breath, pushing through the ringing in their ears. They leveled their rifle, ready to give chase, but froze in place, with their breath catching in their throat.
In the distance, other explosions rippled through the forest, followed by the unmistakable crackle of gunfire. Plumes of smoke curled into the dark sky— growing thicker as more mortars went off.
The ground shook beneath them as the sounds of destruction filled the air, and they soon realized with dawning horror that the other platoons— those deployed around the stronghold— were under attack as well.
The knight clenched their jaw, their hand tightening around the rifle stock.
"Goddamn it," they muttered, while looking back at the few soldiers still standing— their faces pale, streaked with soot and blood.
They weren't the only ones being targeted.
"Form up!" The knight barked. "We're not done yet!"
Orcs and hill goblins sprinted through the dark forest— their breaths ragged as they fled the burning fires of their sabotage. The ash still fell heavily from the sky, mingling with the thick, choking smoke rising from the explosions they'd caused. They'd done their damage, wrecking the explosive ordnance and mortars, and leaving chaos in their wake.
But now they were being hunted.
One group of orcs barreled through the underbrushAa their large, muscular forms crashing through branches and foliage. They knew the forest well, its paths and hidden trails, but they couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
A faint rustling from above made the leader of the group glance up just in time to see a shadow move in the trees.
"Ambush!" The orc bellowed, while raising his crossbow.
Before he could get a shot off, the crack of rifles echoed through the woods. Bullets ripped through the leaves— striking the orcs. One went down immediately, while clutching his chest as blood poured from the wound.
Another stumbled, his crossbow raised— firing wildly. His bolt found its mark— striking a soldier in the leg, and sending him crumpling to the ground.
But it wasn't enough.
The rest of the platoon returned fire, and the orcs were cut down one by one, with their bodies thudding to the ground, and staining the forest floor with blood.
Not far away, a group of hill goblins darted through the trees— their smaller, nimbler forms weaving through the underbrush with ease. Their pointed ears twitched at every sound, and their eyes were wide with fear. They thought they could escape, thought they could slip through the chaos and make it back to their hiding spots.
But then, out of the shadows, a knight emerged— tall and imposing, and their armor gleaming even in the dim light of the ashen forest. With a flick of their wrist, the knight cast a frost spell.
The air around them dropped sharply, the cold biting and unnatural. The goblins barely had time to react before the freezing wind swirled around them— encasing them in solid ice. They froze mid-sprint, their twisted forms turned to ice statues that fell forward and shattered into hundreds of pieces on the forest floor.
Elsewhere, the Forgehart Clan's own warriors retaliated.
Orcs, skilled in guerrilla tactics, moved like shadows through the underbrush. These weren't the foot soldiers who had been gunned down— they were veterans of the clan, trained for this kind of fight. One group hunkered down beneath a thick canopy of trees, laying in wait as a squadron of Royal Army soldiers passed by with their rifles raised— scanning the area for movement.
The moment the soldiers passed, the orcs pounced— emerging from the shadows with brutal efficiency. They struck with heavy, sharp weapons— the clash of metal echoing through the forest.
One orc caught a soldier in the back with a jagged blade, before dragging him to the ground.
Another leaped from the trees above— an axe swinging in a deadly arc.
But for every orc that struck, there were soldiers ready to fire back. The platoon turned quickly, firing in every direction— dropping orcs left and right. The guerrilla ambush was brutal, but the Royal Army was relentless, with their training and firepower overwhelming the scattered orcs.
Further into the woods, goblins of Delrivkat fared no better.
A small group tried to regroup after a failed ambush— their eyes wide as they saw their fellow goblins lying dead in the dirt. They ran, while darting between the thick trunks of ancient trees, only to be met by another platoon of soldiers who had flanked them.
The goblins raised their weapons in a desperate attempt to fight back, but the knights leading the squad were faster. One knight stepped forward, his armor gleaming with frost, and with a wave of his hand— he cast another spell. The ground beneath the goblins' feet froze solid, trapping them in place as the ice surged up their legs, and with a sickening crack— their bodies shattered as the knights closed in.
In another part of the forest, the Forgehart Clan's reinforcements had been moving silently— hidden among the dense foliage. They had been biding their time, and were using every tactic they knew to counter the Royal Army's search-and-destroy squads.
They had learned from generations of battle to strike from the shadows— to bleed their enemies slowly, using hit-and-run tactics to wear them down.
But not even that was enough.
Everywhere, the Royal Army's soldiers were relentless— splitting into small, efficient squadrons that hunted down the orcs and goblins with ruthless precision. For every Forgehart warrior that struck from the shadows, a squad of soldiers was ready to respond with deadly force.
The forest, once a haven for the clan, had become a battlefield soaked in blood and littered with corpses.
Amidst the chaos, one squadron of soldiers stood by— watching as their knight reached into his belt and pulled out a flare gun. The crackling of flames surrounded them, and the knight, without hesitation, loaded a flare, aimed toward the sky, and then pulled the trigger.
The flare shot into the darkened sky, bursting into a brilliant red light. As it climbed higher, its glow cut through the thick smoke that billowed from the Forgehart Stronghold.
More flares began to rise across the forest— painting the sky in crimson flashes. From every corner of the battle, signals were shot into the air.
Across the entire Evergreen Forest, black smoke loomed above the trees like a shroud— the fires from the Forgehart Stronghold casting a sinister glow through the thick woods. And now, more and more flares dotted the night— signaling the fall of the clan's defenses.
On the ground, the knights and soldiers of the Royal Army took no chances. With cold efficiency, they began igniting the very trees around them— using their magic and matchboxes to set the forest ablaze.
Flames then erupted in controlled bursts— racing up the trunks of ancient trees, and crackling and roaring as they consumed the woods.
"Return to East Station!"
The Royal Army then began to pull back— moving in disciplined formation as the flames spread behind them. The inferno would consume whatever remained of the Forgehart Clan's forces.
Aldric stood at the center of the devastated Forgehart Stronghold, his twenty black templars positioned around him— their heavy armor unmoved by the ash raining down from the sky.
The burning remnants of the stronghold illuminated their glowing red visors, and their towering, imposing figures cast shadows against the flickering flames. Aldric's cold eyes, hidden behind his helmet, stared upward into the smoky sky. The light from the flares shot into the air reflected off their visors, but something else caught his attention.
The black smoke swirling above the stronghold began to churn unnaturally— coiling in tight, violent spirals. Thunder cracked across the sky, and flashes of lightning illuminated the thick clouds as they converged. The general narrowed his eyes behind his visor.
His helmet's commlink crackled to life.
"Unnatural weather activity— sensors are picking up high levels of dispersed mana particles," Aldric muttered, with his voice cold and calculative, vibrating through the helmet's speaker. His approving look faltered— a slight frown crossing his normally stoic face, as the distant sound of an electric guitar strummed through the smoke, with the heavy chords resonating across the battlefield.
The riff was unmistakable— a hauntingly powerful, aggressive tune.
Aldric's jaw tightened beneath his helmet. The guitar's sound echoed louder— reverberating across the damaged battlements, and through the stronghold like a battle cry.
"There's only one explanation," Aldric stated— his voice hardening with the realization. "They're here."
The commlink buzzed again. "Seven o'clock, battlements," one of the black templars reported in a sharp military tone.
The general and his twenty Templars turned sharply— their attention focused on the burning wall.
There, silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, stood a slender figure atop the battlements. A Flying V guitar hung in their hands, and a large portable amplifier sat at their feet— crackling with static, as the music continued to blare.
Aldric's eyes narrowed behind his visor as he sized up the figure. "Storm Lord," he said, with his voice carrying an air of both disdain and grudging respect. "You should've stayed a myth."
Suddenly, a powerful bolt of lightning erupted from the figure's body— blasting upward into the swirling storm clouds. Remi stood defiantly, with the crackling energy surging from them.
The storm above roared in response, growing into a full-blown typhoon. Rain pelted down in thick sheets, with the winds howling as the once impenetrable smoke from the fires was blown apart.
The sky split with thunder, and the storm consumed the burning forest and stronghold— dousing the flames in an instant. Even the fires at the Maggiore Outpost began to sputter out, as the tempest reached across the land— even causing snow to fall over Matterhorn.
Aldric's face twisted into a scowl beneath his helmet. He activated his commlink again. "Search for survivors. I'll deal with Storm Lord myself— stand by until I need further assistance." His voice was resolute— filled with the calm of a seasoned warrior.
He didn't wait for a response.
The back thrusters of his full-armored suit ignited, propelling him upward at supersonic speed. He broke through the rain-soaked winds— barreling straight toward the battlements where Remi stood, still shredding the electric guitar with unenthusiastic precision.
The slime monster barely looked up from beneath their sunglasses— their face grim and expressionless as the general approached. The music blared from the amp, with the distorted chords echoing over the storm.
"About fuckin' time," Remi muttered under their breath, with the corners of their mouth twitching with anger. "Let's get this shit over with…"
As Aldric's shoulder-mounted cannon began charging with a yellow glow of energy, the one monster's body crackled with more cyan lightning, as four massive gelatinous tendrils unraveled from their lower back— stretching outward like predatory appendages. The air between them crackled with tension.
Aldric fired his cannon— unleashing a massive yellow beam of concentrated mana. The blast tore through the battlements— obliterating the spot where Remi had been standing, molten metal spraying everywhere. The impact of the shot caused an explosion that rocked the stronghold, flames surging from the molten debris.
For a moment, it seemed the infamous Storm Lord had finally been slain.
But from the blast, Remi leapt forward— their body enveloped in lightning. Aldric's reflexes kicked in, and he used his back thrusters to dodge midair, narrowly avoiding the strike of Remi's tendrils.
With a swift motion, the general's mechanical arms deployed the laminated shields attached to his back module just in time to intercept the powerful bolt of concentrated lightning Remi fired from their tendrils. The two forces collided— causing a massive explosion of mana and electricity that sent the smoke monster careening down into the burning streets below.
Aldric's suit shuddered under the force, with his systems momentarily scrambled. "Thrusters compromised— lithuanian-mana reserves, combusted. Fusion-core is still online," he said coldly into his commlink. "Alpha team, back me up. The rest of you, continue the search for any witnesses."
"Yes, General," the black templars replied in unison through the commlink.
Aldric's fuel source was on fire, but he kept his focus sharp. He aimed for the nearest inner wall of the stronghold's battlement— twisting in midair to raise his legs and bounce off it. Using the momentum, he activated the remaining ordnance from his back thrusters— sending a hail of missiles streaking toward Remi.
On the ground, Remi's speed defied comprehension. They sprinted through the streets, faster than any soldier could follow— their tendrils weaving around them in a blur of lightning. Missiles exploded behind themaa tearing apart the cobblestone streets, but the slime monster dodged them with feral agility— growling as they skidded around a corner.
Another beam of yellow mana shot toward them from the general's shoulder cannon, and Remi barely managed to dive out of the wa— the blast scorching the ground where they had stood moments before.
In response, the slime monster fired another concentrated beam of cyan lightning from their tendrils— aiming directly at their opponent's descending form.
Aldric's mechanical arms raised what remained of his shields— the cyan lightning hammering into them with explosive force. But the shields were failing, and in a split second, the general detached his burning backpack module— skidding along the wall of the battlement, as the explosion ripped through the air behind him.
Leaping forward through the chaos, Aldric extended his arm— a magnetic beam sword erupting from his wrist module.
His voice crackled over the commlink as he closed in on the slime monster.
"This is where your reign of infamy ends, Storm Lord," Aldric declared, his tone cold and absolute.
Echo Team moved with unflinching focus inside the chieftain's ruined longhouse. The distant sounds of battle roared like a storm outside, but their minds were locked onto their mission.
One of the templars knelt beside the wreckage of the throne, with his heavy power armor creaking as he revealed the reinforced vault door hidden behind it. His wrist module flared with orange runes— carefully tracing the edges of the thick steel door.
"Prepare for breach," his voice crackled through the commlink— cold and calm.
The other four soldiers backed away, with their weapons drawn. The runes glowed brighter, pulsing with raw energy, until a deafening blast blew the door inward. Metal fragments scattered down the stairwell that spiraled deep below the stronghold.
"Clear. Move in."
With disciplined efficiency, the five black templars descended the staircase— their red visors shifting to thermal mode, as they scanned for movement. The corridor opened up into a vast underground bunker. They activated reinforcement spells, with their power armor glowing with a golden sheen as mana enhanced their already formidable defenses.
But waiting for them were orc warriors— armed with massive harpoons and ballistas, backed by shamans who began chanting the moment Echo Team arrived.
The orcs opened fire, and the templars responded without hesitation. Yellow beam sabers shot from their wrist modules— deflecting the incoming harpoons and magical attacks with terrifying precision.
"Engage," the leader commanded— his voice devoid of emotion.
Rivet rounds tore through their ranks— turning warriors into bloody ruins, and pinning their body parts to the walls. The shamans fared no better; their spells were nullified by the templars' mana-infused photonic shields. Within moments, the bunker floor was drenched in blood— orc bodies riddled with holes and limbs scattered across the steel grates.
"Proceed," the lead templar ordered.
One of them, larger than the others, strode forward with heavy, deliberate steps— his boots crushing what remained of the fallen. He approached the massive vault door at the far end of the room— its surface unmarred, despite the carnage.
His wrist module flared to life, and a yellow beam saber extended as he began to cut a large section of the door.
His visor detected a faint protective ward, but the templars had already planned for that. They were methodical, relentless, bypassing it as the saber slowly melted through the thick steel.
No heat signatures were visible behind the door— nothing alive, at least.
When the molten metal finally gave way, the templar kicked the door inward, but as it swung open, a sudden bolt of electromagnetic energy struck him square in the chest. His armor's systems flickered, and within seconds, the servos locked up.
The electronics fried, and his power armor became a dead weight.
"Suit malfunction! Man down!" One of the templars shouted as they rushed to his aid, but it was too late.
The lead Templar's suit collapsed, leaving him vulnerable. A pale arm reached out from the darkness of the compromised vault door— a translucent blue mana blade forming from the figure's hand.
"Stand down," the remaining templars ordered, their voices steady, but even they couldn't help but feel the rising tension.
As the figure stepped into the dim light of the bunker, the surviving templars braced themselves. Standing before them was a woman— her body wrapped in tight black raiments that clung to her every curve. Her large, plump breasts strained against the fabric, accentuating her figure, but it was her manic grin and wild, glowing eyes that commanded the most attention.
Arc Mage.
Her hair crackled with energy, and her voice, while light and almost sweet, carried the weight of someone utterly confident in their power.
"Well now, isn't this fascinating?" She purred, with her eyes gleaming with excitement. "You know, I've always had a thing for EMPs. Electromagnetic pulses. Oh, they're just delightful. You see, they're bursts of electromagnetic radiation, and when they interact with electrical systems— bam! Instant overload. They pass through photonic barriers like yours with ease, disrupting any circuit they touch."
The Templars raised their rifles, but Arc Mage merely tilted her head, her hand still glowing with the ethereal blade. "I wouldn't do that if I were you! You'll miss," she teased.
The templars then opened fire, but as if mocking them, the volley of rivets narrowly missed her every time. Even when their aim was perfect, Arc Mage twisted gracefully— avoiding the shots. With a single, swift motion, she lunged forward— piercing the fallen templar's armor with her mana blade.
His body dissolved into ash, with his armor collapsing with a hollow clang.
"Now, where was I?" Arc Mage continued, while pacing slowly in front of the remaining templars— her hips swaying with each step.
One of the Templars growled and rushed her, his beam blade aimed for her head. He moved faster than human eyes could track, but his strike hit nothing but air. An afterimage shimmered where Arc Mage had been.
"Ah yes, the beauty of quantum mechanics. You see, afterimages? They're about quantum superposition— being in more than one place at once! Kind of like Schrödinger's cat, but more fun." She winked, her grin widening, as she moved yet again just in time to avoid narrowly getting decapitated by the black templar's follow up attack.
"Oops! You fell for the same trick twice in a row— how embarrassing!" she giggled, now standing behind him with her hand casually resting on his power pack. "Your suit's steam-cooled fusion-core is impressive, but… Not cool enough to withstand this," Her hand glowed brighter, and another EMP burst out from her palm— frying the templar's systems.
His suit froze, and in one swift movement, Arc Mage stabbed him through the chest with another one of her ethereal blades— reducing him to ash like the first.
She then raised her hand, and the napalm that the surviving templars began trying to use against her was starting to swirl in her palm.
"See, thermal dynamics is the next thing I wanted to chat about," she continued, looking at the remaining three soldiers. "Heat? It's just energy moving from one place to another. And stars? They're nothing more than giant balls of fusion. You know what happens when you compact enough energy into one spot?"
The room lit up with an intense, glowing heat, her grin growing wider.
"… A nova," she whispered— before the star exploded outward in a violent flare, engulfing the room.
The intense heatwave disintegrated the templars' armor systems— reducing their advanced technology to scrap, and leaving their bodies as nothing but charred ash.
Arc Mage let out a long sigh— looking around the room with a pleased smile. Her fingertips pressed together, she admired her work. "You zealots would've known all of this by now, had you'd just let me publish my goddamn textbooks."
She paused, with her grin softening as she gazed at the wreckage. "Well, five black templars down… And I didn't even get to finish the lecture. Shame."
As she stepped over the remnants of the soldiers, Arc Mage grinned to herself— running her fingers through her hair. "Ah, but Juliet is down here, you see," she mused, looking toward the deeper parts of the bunker. "And I can't let my star pupil get hurt, now, can I?"