“Joshua, you shall lead the Seraph and descend onto Caligos Imperium whilst the other Templars invade on foot. From what we know of the Caelum forces, only the enemy commanders or Xeros himself are capable of repelling Deborah’s attack. If you encounter a commander, continue with the plan and target the inner sanctum. However, if the Grand General makes an appearance, then you must alert Lorelai and occupy Xeros’s attention until I arrive. Do not attempt to slay him. Prioritize your safety above all else.

“Be prepared, Joshua, for this duty shall be the most perilous of all.”

- King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy

———

Xeros

Never in all his long years has the Grand General been cornered to such a degree, and to think that Ascalon of all curs would be the cause for this humiliation… how surprising. Xeros has thought the King of Polus to consider himself above the use of sabotage, but it seems that the winged rat has been hiding his true nature all along.

For what else can one call the collapse of the city's array but a carefully crafted scheme? The core is hidden in the deepest pits of the spire. To infiltrate it would require years of service; Xeros trusts none but the most accomplished of engineers and Astrologians to handle matters relating to the capital’s security. It should have been impenetrable… yet there is no deceiving the sight before him. The truth is bare: somehow, a rat has slipped in.

The more he dwells on the trickery, the more enraged he becomes. All this time, Ascalon has treated him as a fool, baring his righteous facade for all to see whilst secretly harboring a more nefarious identity.

Xeros is impressed. Furious, yes, but he is impressed nonetheless over such meticulous deceit. Perhaps he is wrong about the youth. Ascalon truly does deserve the title of ruler, unlike his insipid ancestor, but that does not mean the Grand General will allow his plans to succeed.

This is only a setback, not the end. For as long as Xeros’s desire remains unfulfilled, he will never give in to resignation.

But first, he must deal with a more pressing matter. A sparkling pink radiance surges forward, roaring with a contemptible howl of jubilance, but this nation has no need for such light. It must be snuffed.

Xeros gathers a volatile discharge of red lightning, and releases it directly into the face of his smoke-wrapped form. Flesh manifests into existence above him, gradually taking the form of a giant head, and its skull malforms into a twisted mixture of human and avian. Black feathers surround every surface of the misshapen being; large sockets filled with naught but darkness burrow into its face contorting in agony; and rows upon rows of rotted teeth jut out from its beak of bone.

Conjuring the Corvid’s appearance twice in such a short period of time is starting to take its toll on him, but he cannot afford to conserve his strength now. Xeros has labored far too long to reform this city; he will not allow it to be destroyed.

The disfigured creature lets out a pained shriek, opening its mouth to reveal a bottomless void of dusk and gloom within the Corvid’s Maw. The arrow of light aims to pierce through the being, pressure bearing down upon all near its presence, and then it disappears: vanished into the darkness with nary a sound.

The pink hue, the trail of starlight… gone. Everything is torn and sundered by the tormented shadows lurking inside.

It is done. The light is snuffed. However, the invasion has only just begun.

As soon as Xeros recalls the creature, a swarm of winged knights rush into view and begin to descend upon the city. The Seraph have finally revealed themselves. Ordinarily such a force would be a trivial matter for the city’s armaments, but it seems whoever destroyed the core also wrecked the weapons’ control system. Annoyance after annoyance, tribulation after tribulation… it is as if the world itself wishes for his death.

There exists a small boon, at the very least. Turrets and mounted artillery rise up from all over the citadel and fire at the flying invaders, blanketing the sky in flame and thunder and time. Of course such weapons shall only hinder the Polus elite, but it is enough for as long as their advance can be delayed for a few more moments.

Summoning another body part so soon is out of the question. He has yet to even face the King; it would be a great shame to expend such effort for the extermination of these insignificant rabble. No, a mere feather is all they deserve, and all they shall receive.

Xeros raises his hand, and hundreds upon thousands of black feathers begin to form all around him—blotting out the light of the sun above and encasing the entire capital within specks of shadow. The feathers spin and whirl until they join together into a razing whirlwind.

With a snap of his finger, he sends the umbral assault spiraling straight into the winged legion. Unlike the bullets’ barrage, the feathers are not so easily avoidable, and the Grand General watches on as the rats dance and desperately fly around in vain. It plunges into their armor, tears chunks of flesh away from their bodies until only gaping, bloody holes remain. And if the feathers manage to tear into their wings… well, it is an amusing sight to watch them plummet. Their precious gift of flight: wrenched away. All that’s left for them is to helplessly plunge to their deaths and become a red stain upon the city streets.

But there is one pest that catches Xeros’s eye. It is a pest he has never seen before, but the way it soars throughout the sky and effortlessly deflects his feathers reminds him of an old enemy now gone from this world. However, unlike her wings of gold and silver, this one’s span is of crystals. It shines with a prismatic glow, transparent and delicate like glass.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

What intrigues the Grand General is how puny the little knight is, almost as if they are a child, but Xeros knows better than to be deceived by such appearances. This one should not be underestimated, for they exude an aura not unlike his own: menacing, hollow, and dangerous. He can feel a kindred nature in them, one unsuited for the Order of knights so devoted to chivalry.

A new Throne to replace Lorelai, perhaps? Curious that the King would instate such a wicked being into his retinue, but never the matter. They too shall fall in due time.

Eventually, the Seraph break through the maelstrom of feathers. None are unscathed save for their leader, yet a determination remains set in their gazes.

They disperse and fly towards the city, and though Xeros wishes to give chase, his instincts warn against it. The knights’ leader stares him down now, meticulously watching his every move as if analyzing a wild animal, and unsheathes a thin rapier. They never break eye contact with the Grand General, but much to his surprise, their sharp countenance disappears—quickly replacing with a childish demeanor as they greet him with a playful wave.

“Hello there! You must be that fellow Xeros I’ve heard so much about,” the knight says with the voice of a young boy. “Well, I can’t really tell since you’re all… wispy. Oh, but don’t mind me. I think it’s a good look on you! Very scary. Intimidating. I like it.”

Xeros doesn’t bother to reply and attempts to pierce his neck with a talon from behind, but before he can, the boy suddenly lunges at him with frightening speed and almost pierces the Grand General right in the heart. He evades just in time and prepares to retaliate, but the knight stops his assault and retreats back into the distance, resuming his carefree facade.

“Surprises aren’t nice, I’ll have you know,” he chides with a wag of his finger. “Before we try to kill each other, how about a little introduction? I’m Joshua, Templar of the Order of the Seraph. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Grand General!”

Again, Xeros doesn’t respond and sends forth a barrage of feathers. The Templar merely sighs and lazily dodges the assault before lunging at him once more. This time, however, the Grand General takes him by surprise and traps the rapier in a small manifestation of corvatine flesh… but when he attempts to strike the boy, his talon passes through without any resistance. No spurt of blood. No feeling of flesh. He doesn’t understand; the knight is right in front of him, yet it’s as if he stabs at nothing.

Joshua’s image suddenly disappears, and a quick thrust almost impales the side of Xeros’s abdomen. He attempts to grab onto the boy’s outstretched arm, but once again he merely passes through the body without any contact. Could this be an illusion? Impossible, the thrust would have certainly pierced the Grand General’s flesh.

The boy reappears in the distance and huffs out in annoyance. “I have been nothing but nice to you this entire time, but all I get in return is silence. Is it so hard to speak? Hm? Honestly, you Caelum folk are so stiff.”

The whelp’s incessant ramblings are starting to get on his nerves.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk, I suppose I’ll have just have to speak for the both of us—”

Joshua rushes at Xeros mid-sentence without so much as a change in expression: casual, indifferent, as if this exchange is all but a mere game. He closes the gap with the same uncanny smile, and brings his rapier’s point mere paces away from skewering the Grand General’s brain.

But something is amiss. Xeros sees the boy’s assault clear, but his instinct warns him not of danger. Instead, he feels a chill from behind. It creeps closer, and closer, presence scarcely noticeable amidst the commotion rampant throughout.

However, he has not lived this long by succumbing to fear. No, when one must confront the unknowable, do so with an unyielding confidence.

Xeros stands firm as the blade pierces right between his eyes. Yet, death never comes. He does not feel a thing.

The real attack reveals itself not long after - aiming at the back of his skull - but when he turns around and deflects it, not a soul is to be seen.

“Oh? I’m surprised you didn’t fall for that.”

The Joshua boy emerges again, but his appearance is different: no longer playful. His cheery cover fades, and he reveals himself as he truly is: an empty creature donning the disguise of man.

“Sorry for being so cheap and all,” the Templar says, voice cold and apathetic. “The knights back home always did say I was too mischievous for my own good, but all’s well that ends well. What do you say—do you forgive me?”

Taunting words aside, Xeros notices something odd. The light… it does not reflect upon the boy’s armor. He floats under the sun, yet he casts no shadow. It is almost as if the Templar occupies not a bit of physical space.

“It really wasn’t personal. I’m sure a man of your grace and stature would understand; we all have our duties. It’s just that my duty is a bit more, well, dangerous. You can’t blame me for trying to survive.”

Sound spews from his lips, yet Xeros hears it from another direction.

“I get it though, I really do. A knight should be proper and whatnot, but to be honest I’ve never cared much for the rules. Oops, don’t tell anyone I said that! I have a position to uphold, after all.”

And with every passing second, the skin on his neck prickles: constantly moving as if following a presence yet unseen.

“Just between you and me, I quite like being a little devious sometimes. What’s the point of being honorable if it means ending up dead? I’ve never understood it, but it makes the others happy so what can I do?”

Those wings as well… there is something hypnotic about the way it glimmers. The crystals blend together in a disorienting, colorful swirl, as if attempting to draw every second of his attention.

As if attempting to pry his gaze away from something out of sight.

Ah, I understand now. To think such a power would belong to one of Polus… how interesting. But the ruse ends here.

Xeros raises his hand up to his face, and discreetly injects a spark of red lightning into the socket—manifesting the Corvid’s Eye below and hiding it from view.

“Hm? What’s with that sass? Are you… shaking your head at me? Stars, am I that annoying to you? That is quite rude.”

There you are. As expected, the Grand General has been under Joshua’s spell since the very beginning.

“Even chuckling now? I really have fallen low haven’t I—”

Xeros fires a thunderbolt behind him. It hits an invisible presence, stunning them in place, and without hesitation he conjures one last talon and impales it upon the body of the real Joshua.

The fake disappears from sight, and the Templar’ true form shimmers into view.

“H-Haha,” he mutters, clutching at the bloody hole in his stomach. “Sorry Ascalon, I was… too careless.”