The wind whistled in the ears of the winged knights (Arambourgiania), carrying with it the metallic smell of oiled armor and the sweat of tension. Two hundred winged knights, each with the strength of a mountain lion and the loyalty of a cave wolf, flew in impeccable formation, their winged mounts flapping their wings in unison. In the second saddle, my companion, a member of the Rising Sun Brigade, composed of two hundred mages, emanated an aura of power and mystery. Their eyes glowed with the magical energy that flowed through their veins, ready to cast spells of fire and ice.
The sky was filled with damp clouds, an ominous shadow that stretched across the capital. In the center of this mist, a flying fortress, colossal and imposing, advanced with silent fury. It was a structure of metal, rock and earth, punctuated by eight towers. Its proportions were typical of giants, but its architecture was unlike anything they had ever seen. The fortress emanated an immense aura of danger. The wizards tried to penetrate the mist with their divination magic, but it was like trying to touch darkness. The fortress seemed to be surrounded by an invisible shield, repelling any attempt to peer inside. The scouts, elite warriors tasked with exploring the terrain, were killed before they even approached the fortress, their lifeless bodies seen falling from the sky, like slaughtered birds. The air was thick with apprehension. The threat was real, palpable. The capital, once a symbol of peace and prosperity, now bowed under the weight of fear. The flying fortress, with its hostile and sinister intentions, was an omen of war, a threat to the very existence of the capital, Rashakn.
The Winged Knights and the Rising Sun Brigade head headlong towards the fortress.
Queen Calxochitli IX D’Vipura Nestodomo, her mind filled with worry, watched the fortress approach the horizon, the feathers on her head trembling. Her advisors, with pale faces, murmured among themselves, searching for answers in a sea of uncertainty.
The fate of Rashakn was at stake.
Queen Calxochitli IX D’Vipura Nestodomo watch from the palace if the brave warriors begin the attack.They began to fly in circles around the fortress, testing its defenses.
Meztli and Zyanya flew in formation, the leader of the wing began to circle the flying fortress, in the center of it a huge tree was planted in front of the central building of the fortress, the buglers signaled for a long-range fire attack, the formation inclined for the mages to launch their fireballs, 200 of them descended towards the fortress, aiming at the defense towers that were licked with fire, stones flying at the impact of the fireballs.
Through the communication stone Zyenya said to Meztli. “Look, the tower walls are regenerating the damage. Damn.”
The bugler signaled again, “Attack the same target as the leader.” The wing leader brought the formation closer to the fortress, now flying over the fortress towers. The towers remain silent and inert.
“Looks like we’re going to attack the tree.” Zyenya said to Meztli.
“So far the fortress hasn’t fought back, it’s too easy.” Meztli said worriedly.
The lead mage fired a bolt of lightning towards the tree.
In the blink of an eye, 199 bolts of lightning headed towards the giant tree in the central courtyard. The bolts disappeared just before touching the tree.
“Anti-magic barrier!” Zyenya said after throwing the bolt.
“I don’t think my javelins will make a difference, then.” Meztli frustrated.
Her iphiko folded its huge wings and the formation dived to land the mages in the central courtyard of the fortress. The fortress approaches quickly and she and Zyenya are thrown forward from the saddle, they fall a few meters before the soft fall rings are activated, the two still connected by the life belt try to understand what is happening. During the fall they look at the formation in complete disarray, the animals struggling in the sky, many with broken wings, some already dead, falling slowly, knights struggling to free themselves from the saddles, some swimming in the air, as if they were underwater.
Meztli looks on without understanding, her own iphiko is sinking through the air, both wings and long neck broken, instantly dead. Of the 200 pairs, she counts just over 50 still alive and falling like her towards the courtyard.
Zyenya is still recovering from the sudden ejection, says. "It is an illusion, an immense and powerful illusion" She says with deep astonishment. From the defense towers, dozens of giant skeletons begin to emerge, followed by 10 skeletons wearing flaming armor.
The wind howled around Meztli and Zyanya, carrying the smell of damp earth and old bones. The two wyvern riders, mounted on their winged dragons, spiraled down over the courtyard, a sea of bones stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of giant skeletons, armored in bone and wielding tree trunks as clubs, rose from the ground, their empty eyes fixed on the two warriors.
Meztli, her scale armor gleaming in the bright light of the midday sun, shouted to Zyanya, "Brace yourself, sister! They are many, but we are stronger!"
Zyanya, in her green gunner's tunic and a cruel smile on her lips, replied, "Let us show these old bones the power of the Empire!"
Her iphikos fell around her, toward the army of skeletons below. Meztli, with a quick movement, threw her javelin, which pierced the skull of a giant skeleton, which completely ignored the attack. Zyanya, threw a fireball at the skeleton army, several were blown into flaming pieces, the survivors began to gather in a defensive circle, the mages in the center and the knights on the outside of the circle.
The courtyard turned into a whirlwind of bones, flesh and fire. The warriors, with their sharp swords and javelins, tore, cut and broke the skeletons, while the knights delivered relentless blows with their weapons. Meztli, with her spear, pierced the skeletons with precision, while her sword cut through bones, while Zyanya, threw another fireball. "It was my last fireball." The skeletons in flaming armor just watched, their weapons still sheathed. Some fireballs were thrown at them, but it was like wind, it didn't affect them at all. The warriors, with their agility and speed, dodged the skeletons' attacks, throwing themselves at them with fury, but there were too many of them and each warrior that fell weakened the defensive formation. The battle intensified, the courtyard turning into a bloody battlefield. Meztli and Zyanya, with their companions, fought like a hurricane, devastating the ranks of skeletons. The air was thick with bone dust, blood and the laughter of the skeletons in flaming armor who finally drew their swords. They walked around the battlefield without haste.
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The survivors forming a circle surrounding the wizards forming a last line of defense. But the skeletons were countless. With each skeleton that fell, another rose in its place. Meztli and Zyanya, despite their bravery and skill, were beginning to tire. Her companions, wounded and exhausted, struggled to keep up.
"Sister, we must retreat!" Meztli shouted, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Zyanya, her eyes red with rage, replied: "We cannot let these old bones defeat us!"
But it was too late. The skeletons in flaming armor released a wave of fire that licked the defensive formation. Meztli and Zyanya, with their wounded companions who did not die in this attack, saw their formation crumble. A flaming sword pierced her chest and the last thing she saw was a burning smile and a cold laugh.
The battle was over. The courtyard, now covered in a sea of bones, and bodies cut, burned and crushed, was a testament to the epic battle that had been fought.
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Queen Calxochitli IX D’Vipura Nestodomo sees columns of smoke rising from the flying fortress.
The attack has begun.
The Queen, with a firm posture and a piercing gaze, stepped from the balcony of her palace and entered the Vizier’s room. The light of the midday sun, peeking through the high windows, cast long shadows on the richly embroidered tapestries that adorned the walls.
“Vizier,” the Queen began, her voice ringing with the unquestionable authority of a ruler, “how do the city’s defenses stand? The enemy approaches, and time is of the essence.”
The Vizier, a pureblood with dull scales and white eyes of age but still with a keen gaze, bowed in reverence. "Your Majesty," he replied, "our walls are reinforced, the scorpions are ready, and the archers and court magicians are at their posts. The city is ready to resist, with the bravery of its warriors and the loyalty of its citizens. The priests have been making sacrifices to the Gods since we first came within sight of the fortress."
"And the evacuation plans?" the Queen asked, her voice thick with concern. "My family, my people...I must ensure their safety."
"The escape route is ready, Your Majesty," the Visir assured, "with faithful escorts, the royal refuge is already prepared for your arrival. The secret tunnels are ready to carry the royal treasures, and the ships are waiting in the harbor, ready to take those who cannot escape by land."
"And the security of the city?" the Queen asked, "How can we ensure that the city does not fall into enemy hands?"
"The city is prepared, Your Majesty," the Visir replied, "but the threat is great. The enemies are unknown but their power is immense. Resistance will be arduous, and sacrifice inevitable, but we will prevail."
"Then we will fight," the Queen declared, her voice firm and her gaze unwavering. "We will fight to the end, to protect our people and our city. And if victory is not ours, we must preserve the royal line."
The Visir silently contemplated the Queen. The determination in his eyes was unshakable, the strength of his spirit unbreakable. But his words were emptier than a glass of water in the desert. Everything indicated a terrible defeat. He was old, he had seen many things but nothing like this. Initially they thought it was a new clan of cloud giants, some dissidence from the tribe of the gray citadel, beyond the circle of mountains. But that was not the case. The flying fortress did not have the characteristic cloud wall of the cloud giant cities, and none of them, as far as anyone knows, could move through the sky. Their construction style was also strange. No divination magic, either arcane or divine, shows anything about this fortress. He waited for the Queen to release him, went to his office, finished his business, and upon entering, called his secretary. Call my children, bring them to my office. The secretary looked at the Vizier in surprise. It was known by everyone that the Vizier did not get along with his children and that his office was a sacred place, only the Vizier and his secretary had access and could enter this sacred place. Without a word, he bowed and left to carry out his orders. The Vizier, with a tired voice. His children, Necali and Natlali, were in front of him, serious and tense. "My children, the time has come. The imperial city will fall today. The storm is approaching and we must prepare for the worst, the Queen and the royal family are already ready to flee.”
“Father, what do you intend to do?” Necali asks worriedly.
“You will flee. You used a teleportation circle to take our goods and treasures to a safe place.” Vizier.
“But where?” Natlali visibly afraid.
“To a secret fortress in the mountains. A place that few know about, hidden in a steep cliff. There, you will wait for the storm to pass.” Vizier calmly explains to the two.
“And the others? Our people?” Necali, thinking about how she would live without her servants and slaves.
“The people have no place in our plans. They must take care of themselves.” Vizier says dryly and without room for argument.
“Father, is it that serious?” Natlali, the feathers on her head trembling with fear.
“Natlali, don’t be foolish. Our family must survive. If we don’t protect ourselves, who will take care of our legacy?” Vizier speaks like a whiplash.
“But our family’s legacy has always been to serve the Empire!” Necali says incredulously.
“Necali, don’t be sentimental. Loyalty becomes a burden when the world falls apart.” Vizier looks at his son cynically.
“What will we do with our possessions?” Natlali.
“We will take everything of value. Jewels, gold, artifacts. Nothing should be left behind.” Vizier.
“And the library?” Natlali worried about her beloved library.
“The library is a burden.” Vizier.
“But knowledge...” Natlali
“Natlali, don’t be foolish. One has to be alive to use knowledge.” Vizier.
“Father, we can’t just...” Necali.
“Necali, enough! I’ve decided. The teleportation circle is ready and waiting for you. Go. If all goes well, I’ll come get you in two days. If not, the fortress has provisions for 3 months, and you’ll find instructions on what to do there.” Vizier.
“Father, please think…” Natlali.
“There’s no more time to think. The fortress is getting closer.” Vizier.
Necali and Natlali looked at each other, despair written all over their faces. The Vizier’s decision was cruel, but it was the only solution he saw. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the Vizier’s family was more important than the empire; his own survival came first.