Vakandi, the resilient city bordering The Troca Union, stood resolute against the impending storm. Vakandi's ancient walls bore witness to the unfolding clash between Xander's infantry and the formidable combined forces of the Estian Theocracy, Troca Union, and Zodian Federation, named as: The Tritas. The air crackled with tension as the opposing armies collided, and the symphony of war echoed through the battlefield.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains. Xander's infantry, disciplined and resolute, formed a formidable frontline. The Tritas forces, driven by a shared purpose, advanced with an air of relentless determination.

Sword clashed against sword, and arrows filled the sky like a deadly swarm. The rumble of siege weapons added to the cacophony of battle, creating a tableau of chaos and bloodshed. The fate of Vakandi teetered on the edge as Xander's warriors held the line against the relentless onslaught.

Commander Adrian Evershield, stationed at a vantage point overlooking the battlefield, surveyed the flow of the conflict. Reports of heavy Xandarian casualties weighed on his mind, and a furrowed brow revealed the gravity of the situation. The special forces got called in action. Three elite units, distinguished by their advanced armor and cutting-edge weaponry, moved with precision towards the heart of the conflict.

However, as the clash intensified, the distant sound of wingbeats reverberated through the air. From the crimson sky emerged the formidable Wyvern Riders of Tritas, mounted atop powerful creatures with scales that glistened like burnished gold. The Wyverns' roars echoed through the chaos, and the riders descended upon the Xanderian forces with swift and deadly strikes.

Xanderians, not to be outdone, answered the aerial threat with their own Wyvern Riders. The sky became a battleground as Wyvern and Riders engaged in a spectacular dance of combat. Fire breath and Magic bolts collided in mid-air, adding a new layer of complexity to the unfolding battle. And then banging sounds started coming off the ground and Tritas Wyverns and their Riders started to fall off the air like ragged dolls.

"Eliminate every enemy Rider in sight!" shouted Captain Marcus, the leader of the Special Forces unit known as Iron Phalanx, directing his snipers. "Sergeant, push back the enemy infantry! Provide support to our ground forces," he commanded, issuing further orders with urgency.

Sergeant Braken, a Wolf Beastmen barked orders to his men, “All right boys! Our time to shine. Let’s move!” And then jumped right in front of the incoming Tritas infantry, holding a machine gun and open fired, “GET SOME! HAHAHAH!” The scene descended into a chaotic one-sided slaughter.

“Hey Sarg! What did you say that for?” Asked one of his men.

The Sargeant replied, “It’s just something Prince Castiel told me to say before unleashing this gun on a large group. Said it would feel good.”

“Does it?”

The Sargeant started firing again after a couple of seconds of break, “FUCK YEAH KID! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Xander's infantry, now reinvigorated, pressed the advantage, driving the Tritas forces back. The rest of special forces, moving like shadows amidst the chaos, engaged the Tritas forces with unparalleled skill. Coordinated strikes disrupted the enemy's formations, sowing confusion and panic in their ranks.

The Wyvern Riders, both from Xander and the Tritas, engaged in high-altitude duels. Lightning crackled as magical energies and enchanted 50 caliber clashed, and the battlefield below became a canvas for the airborne skirmish. The retreating sun cast long shadows, and the world seemed suspended in a moment of intense struggle.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Vakandi became a battleground bathed in the hues of twilight. The Tritas forces, caught off guard by the ferocity of Xander's reprisal, faltered. The combined might of the Estian Theocracy, Troca Union, and Zodian Federation faced the onslaught of Xander's retaliation.

However, the conflict was far from over. The Wyvern Riders, engaged in an aerial ballet, continued their duel above the chaos. Amidst the cacophony of battle, a massive explosion resounded as a magical blast erupted in the sky. A dark-winged Wyvern, overcome by the magical onslaught, plummeted to the earth.

Commander Adrian Evershield, witnessing the aerial clash, knew that the outcome of the battle hung in the balance. The ground forces, inspired by the relentless assault of Xander's special forces, pressed their advantage. The Wyvern Riders, now fewer in number but no less determined, fought on, seeking to regain control of the skies.

As the echoes of battle subsided, Commander Adrian Evershield surveyed the aftermath. Vakandi, though scarred, stood as a testament to Xander's resilience. The combined might of the Estian Theocracy, Troca Union, and Zodian Federation had been repelled, and the city's borders remained secure.

News of the victory spread, lifting the spirits of Xander's forces. They celebrated the repulsion of the invading Alliance. Yet, in the aftermath of the battle, the Commander received reports of the combined forces' reaction to the devastating defeat. The survivors, battered and demoralized, regrouped far from the city's borders.

Whispers of disbelief and frustration echoed among the Tritas commanders. The realization that Xander's advancements in both ground and aerial warfare had caught them off guard fueled internal discord. Accusations were exchanged, and blame was apportioned as they grappled with the sobering truth - they underestimated the technological prowess and strategic brilliance of Xander.

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Amidst the shattered remnants of their forces, a decision was made. The Tritas, humbled and enraged, would not retreat. Instead, they would regroup, rebuild, and plan a renewed assault. The Battle of Vakandi had become a pivotal moment, not only for Xander but for the entire continent. The embers of war still glowed, and the shadow of conflict loomed on the horizon, casting its long, foreboding reach over the kingdoms involved in this struggle for dominance.

15 kilometers away from Vakandi, General Nier, leader of the Zodian Federation, heard the news of the battle of Vakandi, as one of his lieutenants said to him, “Just as you had predicted my lord, Tritas lost the battle.”

“I told them that Xander will have surprises for them but they chose to ignore my advice. Well, the war is still far from over. Is the horde ready?” General Nier asked his lieutenant.

“Hungry and waiting, My Lord.”

“Release the slaves” Nier Ordered.

General Nier, fueled by a ruthless determination, harnessed an unsettling strategy to assail the city of Warthon, situated on the border of the Zodian Federation. Aware of the city's vulnerabilities, he deployed a relentless force of five thousand magically enhanced and drugged slaves, their hunger-driven frenzy turning them into instruments of chaos.

Under the oppressive command of General Nier, the enslaved horde moved forward, their steps echoing like an ominous drumbeat as they approached the outskirts of Warthon. The air was thick with an aura of malevolence, and the defenders of Warthon, caught off guard by this unconventional onslaught, hastily fortified their defenses.

The enslaved masses, their minds clouded by dark enchantments and their bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion and hunger, charged like a relentless tide. The eerie silence that preceded their attack was shattered by the haunting screams of the afflicted, the frenzied sound of their footsteps, and the clash of primitive weapons.

Warthon's defenders, unprepared for such a grotesque assault, struggled to repel the frenzied horde. The enslaved attackers, driven by an insatiable hunger and fueled by dark magic, tore through the city's defenses with a savage brutality that sent shockwaves through the streets.

General Nier, watching the chaos unfold from a vantage point, reveled in the effectiveness of his unorthodox strategy. The enslaved army, devoid of reason or self-preservation, exhibited a relentless onslaught that overwhelmed the defenders.

As the enslaved horde reached the heart of Warthon, the once vibrant city now lay in ruins. Fires raged, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of destruction. The enslaved attackers, driven to a frenzied state, showed no mercy, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake.

The defenders, desperately trying to regroup, found themselves facing not just human adversaries but all sorts of Beastmen, Demi-humans and creatures driven by a dark and relentless force. The slaves, their bodies twisted by magic and deprivation, fought with a mindless fervor that made them formidable foes.

In the midst of the chaos, a group of Xanderian mages attempted to counter the dark enchantments controlling the enslaved horde. However, the sheer number and relentless aggression of the attackers made the task almost insurmountable.

As the battle raged on, General Nier's sinister strategy continued to unfold. The enslaved forces, their numbers seemingly endless, pressed forward with an unrelenting determination. The once proud city of Warthon now faced an existential threat, and its defenders were pushed to the brink.

Caught in a desperate struggle for survival, the defenders of Warthon sent out distress signals, pleading for reinforcements from Valencia. The outcome of this battle would not only determine the fate of Warthon but also set the tone for the broader conflict that loomed on the horizon.

Amidst the chaos and destruction, the enslaved horde, driven by dark magic, continued their relentless assault, leaving behind a city in ruins and the echoes of despair that reverberated through the war-torn streets of Warthon.

***

Thousands of kilometers away, as Castiel prepared to depart for Veloria with Calvin to deliver his lecture at the Academy, the atmosphere was charged with a mix of accomplishment and anticipation. The successful cure of Princess Risa had lifted the shadows that had loomed over Serenia, and Castiel, despite the ongoing tensions, was ready to fulfill his commitment.

However, before their departure, a messenger arrived with the grave news of Xander being under a sudden and fierce attack. The urgency of the situation demanded Castiel's immediate attention, threatening to disrupt his plans.

Calvin, witnessing the gravity of the news, expressed his desire to accompany his elder brother back to Xander. Concern etched across his face, Calvin insisted, "Big brother, I should go back with you. Xander needs both of us now."

Castiel, however, placed a gentle hand on Calvin's shoulder and looked into his eyes with a mixture of understanding and determination. "Calvin," he began, "as much as I wish for you to be by my side,in times of war, strategic decisions are crucial. By having one of us here in Serenia, we ensure that our kingdom has a representative who can coordinate and communicate effectively. Your presence here will be a source of stability and strength."

Castiel simply didn’t want Calvin to go back home until the war was over and Calvin understood that. Their eyes locked, the unspoken bond resonating between them. Castiel's love for Calvin, the deep-rooted connection that transcended the responsibilities they carried, was evident in the protective tone of his words. "Calvin," Castiel whispered, "I need you here, not just for the kingdom, but for us. Together, we can navigate through these challenging times, but your safety here in Serenia is my top priority."

As Calvin absorbed the sincerity in Castiel's words, a mixture of understanding and gratitude flickered in his eyes. The unspoken language of brothers echoed in that moment, an acknowledgment that their roles were intertwined, and the love they shared would guide them through the trials that lay ahead. Castiel's decision, driven by a profound love for his younger brother, became a testament to the strength of familial bonds in the face of adversity.

“All right, brother. I will do as you say but promise me that you will be careful.”

Castiel replied with a loving smile while messing up Calvin’s perfectly structured hair, “I promise, little mage.”