Throne of Steel

Chapter 8 - Regis Infernalis

The prisoners' faces were covered, so they could not see where they were taken, but they all but knew. That knowledge gave rise to a very long and uncomfortable trek, where they were carted slowly through the noisy crowds of Charr tying and untying vehicles and animals to other carts and the crackling of campfires and burning effigies all around. When it came to an abrupt halt, the ropes tying it to the dolyaks were cut and the cart itself was flipped back to drop everyone on the ground.

As expected, by the time the covers were removed and they were allowed to see, they were in the middle of a seemingly endless army of the Flame Legion, making camp in a familiar field full of tree stumps. As far as they could see, burning effigies of Charr patrolled the area, some walking on two legs, and some were of a larger, four-legged model with a spiked tail. Shamans draped in layers of frilled tribal robes performed rituals preparing for impending battles and worked in groups to assemble new effigies.

Blacksmiths and bladestorms, soldiers in plates of armor dyed orange, worked in makeshift forges, sharpening their blades and helpers carried tools and supplies back and forth between the compounds set by different troops and the long rows of dolyaks.

In-between all this, the Flame Legion brought with them large carriages, some of which were closed off like chariots, others were mobile stages and ritual platforms. Right in front of them were three more such carriages, most notably a wide steel structure with only little flooring attached and at the top of a small staircase a throne molded on top. A dozen of female charr, stripped naked, sat around the carriage, all wearing metal collars around their necks, bound to the throne with heavy chains.

And on the throne sat a large Charr with wide black horns. As he rose from his seat and made his way down the stairs, his imposing stature became very apparent. He was easily two heads taller than the average Charr and from within the small gaps between the plates of painted-red steel covering his body, the contours of an intimidatingly muscular build showed the fruits of constant physical training.

His expression was cold, reserved, but there was something terrifying hidden within the look in his eyes. "Siegeblast, is this the so-called 'Commander of the Pact' you've been telling me about?"

Varrock, who had accompanied the Separatists hauling in the prisoners, lowered his head. "None other, Imperator. He and the Blood Legion Tribune will be yours to keep, as long as you heed my advice on the way. I believe with confidence that their presence either as spectators, ambassadors or comrades in arms, will make a greater asset than the trophy of their heads ever could."

"Really? Have they accomplished more than just tipping over a few walking corpses?"

"These two go beyond that, Imperator. The Commander and the Blood Legion Tribune were among the small group of champions spearheading the assault on the Citadel of Flame. The Pact may have swarmed the Citadel together, but when your sire, the late Imperator, was struck down, their hands were the ones holding the blade. The gesture alone of parading your sire's vanquishers is proof of your superior might. But if we gain their good will - if we can bring them to our side, it will add insult to injury."

"Fat chance!" Rytlock snapped at him. "Like anything you say could get me to sympathize with Flame Legion traitors!"

But his animosity didn't impress Varrock at all, in fact he laughed at him. "It doesn't matter what we tell you. Where we're going, we won't need to say a thing. I'll let the king do all the talking. But that's for another day. We've wasted enough time making camp here."

"Indeed." Garadin Baelfire raised his voice, roaring loudly enough for all around him to freeze and listen. "Pass down the orders, we begin to march once more! Their main force lay dead at our feet, the Citadel will crumble before our might!" The war drums began beating, legionnaires and gladia alike rushed from place to place, stowing away supplies, taking apart fortifications and tents and readying the pack animals for the journey. "We will march straight through their rural territories, their towers and castra will not deter us."

Rytlock snarled, struggling against his ties and cuffs. "He's going to burn down all the villages! All the farmland!"

"Easy there." Varrock said. "They don't kill indiscriminately. Every single civilian will be granted a chance to survive." Though his words did little to calm the Tribune. The marches were long and noisy, a thick, suppressive air hung over everyone. In the nights, Rytlock would frequently try to break free, but the ties were solid and Varrock and his human Separatists kept a close eye on their prisoners at all times.

Then finally, there was a glimmer of hope that this nightmare would find its end. The army reached a tall tower forged in rusted metal like most of the Citadel's structures. Poised upon the eastern edge of the farmland set up around the western region on the plateau, this tower was one of many outposts that would drive Separatists and enemy legionnaires away from the gladia that populated the area beyond. It was still manned and active, as they would show soon after the Flame Legion marched towards it. "Snipers!" one of their criers shouted. "Enemy snipers! Several men down!"

In an entire salvo, shots coming from various levels on the tower mowed down Flame Legion Soldiers at the forefront and alarmed cauterizers - medics and healers of the Flame Legion - rushed to bring those struck to the safety of the carriages to tend to those still alive.

Baelfire's response was very plain. "Blast them out of our way!"

"Stop!" At this point the Commander still had some hope that they could stop or at least slow down the bloodshed, there had been too much of it recently already. "You can't just kill everyone on sight!" he pleaded with the Imperator. "At least give them a chance to back out of fighting."

When the Imperator turned to the Separatists' carriage, he snorted. "Very well, if you think our enemies can be reasoned with, then you shall be at the forefront of this vain endeavour. They will fire at any Charr expecting Flame Legion, but they will hesitate with humans."

Varrock understood what he meant and had the Commander pulled off the cart. They put his calves in a second pair of cuffs, held together by a solid metal rod. Even walking was a cumbersome task now. The Centurion flashed a glare at him. "You better not pull anything funny. We got our barrels trained on you and we're precise. You try to run or pull something else, and you won't be doing a lot of running in the near future."

His threat was clear. If he tried to break out, he would be shot. In the best case, in his legs. "You need to tell them the following and listen closely: 'Surrender to Flame Legion or they will melt your tower.'. That exact wording. We will melt it."

The Commander nodded and then one of the human Separatists led him forward, past all the regrouping troops of the Flame Legion and to the very front. Two humans walking ahead of everyone, alone. As expected, they were able to approach the tower without issue. There must have been scores of Iron Legion snipers posted along the railings on several levels and they all held off on shooting.

When he had reached it half-way, a single legionnaire stepped out from the gates leading past the walls surrounding the tower, with pieces from the Iron Legion's signature armor and a rifle hanging off his shoulder. "Who are you! Why are humans marching with Flame Legion?"

"I'm not marching with Flame Legion, " the Commander replied. "I'm a prisoner. Listen, I have bad news! The Citadel's army was destroyed! You need to retreat and tell them about this! And I have a message from the Flame Legion!"

"Let's hear that message first."

"They want you to surrender. They say they're going to melt the tower if you don't."

The Iron legionnaire burst out laughing. "I'd like to see them try. They may be able to light some campfires and effigies, but weakening metal and from that far away? Never going to happen."

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but even if they can't do that, they took all the Citadel's artillery. And if they can't melt the tower, they can bombard it."

Several angered Charr roared from behind the legionnaire. "What's this guy saying?"

"Are they really trying to convince us of this nonsense?"

"Is this how Flame Legion talks to their foes?"

And the one that met the Commander face to face appeared to agree with them. "I suppose they're making you say this and have nothing to back it up. Just as usual. Go back and tell them that no-one believes them. Let them try blasting the tower all they want, they won't even get close, let alone make a dent!"

The Commander sighed and ran his hand down his face. "No, they're not making me say the artillery part, it's true! And that about the army, too. Only a handful of us survived, me and Rytlock included!"

The legionnaire's feline snout contorted into a wide grin. "Rytlock as in Rytlock Brimstone? You're trying to tell me the Tribune went down without a fight? With Flame Legion? I'm supposed to believe this?"

"He's among the prisoners! They're shipping me around on the same cart with him! That's beside the point, you need to send word to the Citadel. You need to warn them of what's coming, they need to contact Lion's Arch and bring in the Pact's fleet as fast as possible."

"Stop!" The Charr raised one of his claws and gestured for the Commander to cease talking. "I've heard enough. We'll think about sounding the alarm when we see reason to. Until then, tell the Flame Legion they can kiss my tail."

Without another word he returned to the gates, leaving the Commander and the human Separatists no option but to return to the army. The Separatists' report of their reaction placed a disappointed look on Varrock's face. "Guess we're really doing this, huh?"

And as if on cue, the Imperator descended from his throne and marched right up to the Separatists' carriages. "Don't keep me waiting, Siegeblast! What's their answer? Will they surrender and kneel like the subservient dogs they are?"

"I'm afraid not, Imperator. They don't seem intent on resolving this peacefully."

"If it is war they want, then war they shall have! Legionnaires! Rally the shamans and ready the focused furnace!"

This drew the curiosity of the prisoners. "Focused furnace?" the Commander mumbled.

Rytlock snarled at Varrock. "What toys have you cooked up this time?"

Varrock simply shrugged. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to it. Here we go, it's right over there." Further to the north, where the Separatist leader was pointing, Charr from far and wide gathered to pull together two of the more strange vehicles. Once brought closer together, their bizarre design made much more sense. They were extremely long steel basins of sorts but when joined together by clasps at the ends, they formed a giant pipe, like a giant cannon, but very long and closed off on one end. It was forged out of solid black steel like many of their newer structures and carriages.

Shamans brought spices, kindling and incense and made circles on the ground around the pipe. Legionnaires brought along wheeled constructions and attached them to the pipe, which all together with the assembled pipe, allowed them to manipulate and finetune its alignment. The pipe then began to emit an intense heat and smoke. Hot enough that the Commander could feel it even from where he was sitting.

Varrock had one Separatist bring him sets of binoculars, one of which he handed to the Commander. "You're gonna want to see this. Seeing is believing after all." The Commander followed suit. The pipe and the Imperator were close enough to see with his eyes alone, but the tower was too far away to make out anything in great detail.

The Flame Legion Imperator took position on one of the circles poured onto the ground with colourful powders, prominently set near the front end of the pipe. Then the actual ritual began. The Flame Shamans summoned bursts of flames and channeled them towards the pipe. Heating it up to ridiculous degrees. Then the Imperator performed an elaborate circular dance, which ended with his claw stretched out towards the tower.

The pipe stopped radiating heat, where once the air blurred with the searing blaze coming from this construct, everything cooled down. And yet the giant pipe itself heated up enough to begin visibly glowing in bright orange. When the Imperator made another step guiding his other hand towards the tower, the pipe stopped glowing and a bright, focused beam shot out from it, straight onto the walls at the base of the tower.

Within seconds, the turrets set up on the ramparts fell over as the wall crumbled and melted before their very eyes. Charr behind the wall caught fire immediately and were quickly caught by growing puddles of molten steel and burning concrete that filled the outpost's interior. They were too far away for them to see that part, they could only see what few legionnaires escaped by jumping off the wall and running towards the Flame Legion's army, but they couldn't get far. Their fur was already set ablaze by the time they got out, and they all succumbed to the fires that already burned away at their flesh.

The beam was ceaseless and under its perpetual fire, the tower itself began to buckle. As the wider base softened, it couldn't stem the weight of the tower itself much longer. The base collapsed and having lost its foundation on one side, the tower fell forwards, crashing into the ground with shrapnel and stray Charr launched in every direction. Clouds of dust shrouded the surroundings and the cacophony of metal beams creaking under the strain and the cracking of stone sounded so outlandish, it was as though a giant monstrosity the size of a shatterer was roaring at them.

The Shamans kept channeling their flames towards the furnace and the beam kept heating up the tower. Most of the walls had already given in and the last parts of the base at the center soon collapsed. All glowing, all liquid, with bits of burning trash here and there. No doubt all the Charr inside were already burnt to a crisp. Once the tower and the entire outpost built around it had been reduced to a giant puddle of molten metal, the Shamans finally stopped and the beam dimmed until it died down.

Without a constant stream of searing heat fueling it, the ruins of the outpost cooled, leaving behind a circular patch of pitch-black rubble, where once an entire military base of Charr had stood.

Everything fell silent. Even Rytlock, who was visibly itching to scream at the Flame Legion, had no words for what they had just beheld. Garadin left his circle and went to a nearby hill where he could overlook more of his troops. "It is here that I feel tempted to speak of the might of our legion. But in truth, this was merely a warning. A sign of what is to come, a hint at just how powerful we have truly become! Let this be a warning to the Citadel. One of many warnings we have burned into the landscape before. A warning that we now have the capacity to bring an end to a war that seems endless. And to that end, all who seek to extend it at our expense shall burn until they are but ash!"

His legionnaires cheered and roared, raising their arms and their weapons in celebration.