“Long, long ago, when Grand General Luxmi still ruled over the formerly known Lux Caelum, a mighty war raged in the east between the Steppe’s Overlord and the Chieftess of Antiqua. I was but a young Astrologian, ever burying my head in scholarly pursuits whilst foolishly ignoring all matters relating to the outside world. However, even I could not hide away from the aftermath of their conflict.

“The clash of the two rulers echoed across the land and brought forth terrible disasters. Rain flooded deserts in a perpetual downpour; wind spiraled into gigantuan hurricanes, shredding both man and nature alike; and even the very earth split apart until naught was left but gaping, treacherous caverns.

“It was truly horrible, and after that day the three nations of Polus, Augurium, and Caelum swore to maintain peace between their neighboring lands. Never would such a calamity be allowed to plague the world again: such was our firm decree. And although that peace was eventually broken by the newly elected Xeros Nox, the war never escalated past that of the borders.

“However, I fear that ruin will descend upon the world once more. Will it be the young King who prevails, or shall the old crow succeed in his ambitions? I have done all I can to aid Polus. Even at this moment, the Overlord’s tribe pesters at Augurium land… all we can do now is trust in Ascalon’s victory.”

- Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy

———

Xeros

Even now, with the young King’s scheme fully bare, does Ascalon hold onto his veil of righteousness. Or perhaps… it is no front.

“You speak of causes just, yet in the end you are a man like me,” Xeros says. “A man willing to further his goals by any means necessary. I already know of your nature, King of Polus. Let us end this farce.”

Ascalon stays his blade and looks at the Grand General with an expression of… penance? “It is true my invasion has put many an innocent in harm’s path, and the people of Caelum have every right to scorn my name. But I will not delude myself into thinking their death a necessary sacrifice. I took up the blade of my own volition, and I will seek amends for the rest of my days if need be. However, I will never become like you—someone who views lives as mere tools to be expended!”

So he says. Such naive words: as expected from one of sheltered pedigree.

But that is the problem; this ignorant child could not have possibly planned this scheme. Then who is the culprit? It vexes Xeros, this unease. With every passing second, he moves along to the whims of someone unknown.

He must inquire further, if not else but to bide time for his recovery. His heart is like ice. Fire spreads through his veins. The Grand General is not one for needless conversation, but this is not the time to be particular about the methods. Let the runt ramble as much as he wishes; every breath Xeros takes is one more talon, conjurable.

“Do not speak as if you have not plotted this day since your inception,” he goads. “Tools? Your siege would have been repelled long ago if not for the spies sent into my nation. What can you call such espionage if not the cold rationale of a ruler?”

Ascalon shakes his head. “Spies? I would never force my own to subject themselves under your torment. The thought of sending them anywhere near Caelum’s border disgusts me.”

Is Xeros to believe the core’s destruction a mere coincidence, then? The very thought is laughable.

“Lies. You knew when to strike at the capital’s most vulnerable. The very moment our defenses were sabotaged, your ilk sent forth that arrow of light.”

“That is your own fault—”

“A dissenter of mine faction, you believe? Tell me, how would they have known of your arrival?”

He hesitates.

“I see your ignorance, o’ King. You truly do not know a thing. How pathetic… a ruler unaware of their subject’s own machinations. To think so vapid a man would come this far—someone must have helped you; someone gave you forewarning of the barrier’s fall.”

Someone who Ascalon can trust without hesitation.

“Who was it?” Xeros says. “No matter how young the crown’s mantle, surely you have your doubts. Think, boy: what awaits you at the end of this campaign? You are the lord, yet there is one who schemes by your side. Do you believe they have your best interests in mind?”

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The King stays silent. He looks up to the sky, to those far-away stars—reflecting. Pondering.

When Ascalon speaks again, he does so with an odd tone: not suspicion, not disbelief, nor even blind conviction. He speaks as a man aware of the fate that awaits him.

“It is as you say,” he replies. “I am ignorant, yes. There are many things I do not know… nor do I wish to seek out until the proper time. But until that moment comes, I will see this path to the very end.”

“You are content with being a puppet?”

Ascalon laughs. “How harsh. I only wish to follow my heart.”

Xeros realizes why he loathes the King so. That useless sentimentality, that reverent faith in another they can never fully understand—it reminds him of a boy.

A boy of the past, of a starry-eyed idealist determined to bring change.

“You will only feel pain,” Xeros says. “The heart is cruel. It seduces you with sweet words, lulls you in a fantasy without escape. But when the veil falls and reality parts away the delusions, all that remains is regret.”

“Perhaps so.” Ascalon slowly raises his blade and steadies his breath. The air sharpens; his eyes twinkle alight with resolve; and he spreads wide his royal wings. The childish youth is gone, now replaced by a mighty King. “But I shall try nonetheless, to chase after my beliefs no matter how impossible. For that is the will of a hero.”

… It sickens Xeros, how brightly Ascalon shines: as if to mock him. As if to sneer at the bitter husk he has become.

“So be it.” The Grand General brings his hands together, red lightning crackling from the fingertips. “Then follow that will to your grave.”

Ascalon surges forth in an instant - his figure blurring in a ray of amber - and he strikes. Heavy is the celestial zweihander, a fiercer blow than any Xeros has felt in decades, and it slices through his corvatine manifestations as if through air. The talons, the flesh, any and all pieces of the Corvid’s body: none can slow the King’s assault.

Ascalon’s attacks are simple, honorable and direct. His blade curves with not a shred of deceit. He makes no attempt to hide his weapon’s course, yet there is nothing Xeros can do. The King is simply too fast, too powerful. His is a righteousness unyielding in the face of all—a light that thwarts all manner of unsavory trickery.

This is the swordsmanship of Freedom’s apostle: true, unwavering honesty.

Xeros has expected as much, but the King’s invulnerability is proving too monstrous a power to handle. Lightning merely dissipates upon colliding with his armor. Not a single talon, no matter how large, can even scratch the surface of his body. Everything is repelled.

And while Ascalon remains ever pristine, Xeros tires with every sputtering breath. This is a useless endeavor. For so long as the King is surrounded by his people, Freedom’s aegis shall never weaken.

He must separate them, bring the ruler to where his authority may not reach.

As soon as an opening avails itself, Xeros wretches himself away from the onslaught and rushes off into the distance. It is dangerous to leave the capital’s safety, but to prolong this conflict will only result in his inevitable fall. Risks must be made.

His plan succeeds, at first. Ascalon follows after him past the city gates, but then he stops and delivers upon the Grand General an unamused glare.

“I know your ploy, Xeros,” he says. “I will go no farther than here.”

Surprising. It appears the King is not so mindless after all. “Does your campaign not lie with my death? If I escape here, then everything you have done will be all for naught.”

Ascalon shakes his head. “Maybe so, but I know you will not abandon this city.”

“And how can you be so confident?”

“Because it is all you have left.” The King’s tone becomes strange, almost as if he’s pitying him. “You… do not truly care for the title of Grand General, do you? No, I suppose it would be more accurate to say you do not care about your own well-being. That dream you spoke of—it sounded so hollow. As if you yourself didn’t believe it possible.”

The Grand General stops. “Hollow, you say?”

Indeed it is: a hollow, wishful dream. One that is impossible due to human nature. Even after all these years, Xeros has always thought of it as the mere ramblings of a lunatic.

And yet, here he is. Slaving away to make that impossible dream ever a step closer… all for the sake of a stupid, infantile, selfish mess of a woman.

Because regardless of the pain she has brought, her words have never left him: those words so pure, so passionate. Words that could even make his smog-ridden heart just a little clearer.

Now, there is only a shadow of what once was.

“You leave me no choice.”

Xeros raises his hands, and sends an electric bolt directly into his chest and face.

Ascalon leaps forth to put a stop to his call, but it is too late. He suffers the same fate as the boy Templar Joshua. The Corvid’s Heart has already begun beating.

Thump-thump.

There, right behind him, a great evil emerges into existence.

Thump-thump.

It is the visage of a disgusting, ravenous maw.

Thump-thump.

Its beak opens wide, and the King stays frozen: entranced by the rhythm.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

“This life may be a miserable one, but it cannot end just yet,” Xeros says. “Not until I prove that foolish woman wrong. The only way to bring about peace is through force: such is this world’s bitter truth.”

With a loud snap, Ascalon is devoured by the darkness.