Capital of Carthage, Gornum
The daylight pierced through the clouds in the sky and radiated the people of Carthage. Youths ran back and forth within the streets of Gornum, traders and various merchants opened their shops, and the townspeople went about their business. That would be how a normal day in Gornum would be, however, today was not a normal day. News of the Immortals spread across Mainland like wildfire once the survivors of Prehg reached their various countries.
The king of Carthage peered outside of his carriage as it made its way through the streets of Gornum. He contemplated the new threat that is the Immortals, and what should be done in order to destroy them. The Holy Temple was specialized in this particular field, and since one of their Halls were destroyed during the attack, he suspected they would be happy to eradicate them.
He was headed to Teras, the allied capital of Mainland. There was a mandatory meeting being held, with all various leaders of the three nations required to attend. The monstrosities have taken over the ports of Prehg, where most of the trade from various continents are sent out and shipped in. Many different evacuations that have took place in the second Great War have already ended, but the army itself of the three nations hasn't yet recovered from the blow. The only one that will be able to afford handling the Immortals, supposing that they have an army with adequate size to our own, is the Holy Temple.
The survivors in question, various officials, civilians, and guards who all did not resist and were spared, spoke of skeletal beings with undescribable power and brutality. If the rumors of the enemy are true, then the paladins would be the only true force that could be a threat to them. But then again, none of them had an actual gauge of their power: to a mere peasant, the aura of a 3-star is practically akin to a deity to them.
As the sunlight pierced through the clear window of the royal carriage, the king looked out of it. The grass shined with a lucent green, the leaves of trees ever so softly swaying from the gentle breeze carrying the life of the beings in Mainland from Fall to the dreadful Winter that is to come. As the carriage went deeper and deeper into the lush forest, the leaves began to turn from its dark orange to no leaves at all. Snow began to drop from the outside, surprising the king at the sudden change of weather.
Its white droplets of chill soon covered the trees, the grass, and mildly making a layer of frost over the window. He eventually loses interest and looks to the front compartment of the carriage, where the driver along with various guards beside him lay on watch.
”How much longer, Oswald?”
The driver, one that the king himself came accustomed to over the long years he’s been in charge of both driving the king’s carriage and planning his safety throughout the travel, turned back slightly in his direction. With a light smirk, he answered.
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“Not much longer, my liege.”
He dismissed Oswald’s mildly eccentric behavior and peered back outside the window. Greeted with a fully blocked view from the frost that encompasses the glass, he frowns. With a wave of his hands, the frost starts to drip from the heat radiated by the king of Carthage.
Now able to see the outside forest again, he smiles. He’s always liked the view of nature, seemingly unaffected by the harsh wars and destruction around it. As the world advances and destroys itself again and again, the forests and various other things of nature remains the same.
His face contorts to an aghast expression.
What is this dark magic?
The once pure snow is completely black, and the trees crush and wither away from the dark substance. Harsh winds crash across the carriage, making the glass splot and sizzle as it slowly gets eaten through by the black snow that was flicked from the ground.
”Oswald, GUARDS, WHAT IS THIS CURSED MAGIC?!”
He scoots away from the dangerous snow as it falls inside of the carriage. He turned to look at the driver, finding a grim picture.
Oswald sits there, seemingly unable to notice his flesh melting away until there’s nothing left but bone. The blood of Oswald and the guards drift away from their previous owners and slowly slide away towards the king.
His face slowly turns pale from fear. He was never a fighter, the only abilities he has is small displays with low-tier magic.
The blood contorts and melds itself slowly into a skeletal being darker than the black snow threatening to melt his flesh beside him. Its black flames for eyes burn with intensity as the monster glares into the soul of the Carthage king. Face to face with the monster, it lets out a fiery exhale onto the king’s face, giving him a burn. He feels the pain but refuses to move or let out a noise, the fear of this entity easily outweighing the pain. It spoke.
”The Immortals come for you, king of Carthage.. your days, along with the days of your kingdom, are numbered..”
It twisted its head so that its sharp canines practically touch the ear of the scared man quietly praying to Helios.
”Helios cannot save you. Remember this, mortal—remember this fear and know the agony you will soon face.. my liege will enjoy your screams as he slowly destroys your soul.”
The king gasps for breath. The sunlight still shines through the window and warms his face. He hurriedly turns to Oswald, finding him and the guards fully intact.
”Are you alright, my liege?”
He touches his face, feeling for the burn. Nothing but his smooth skin and rough beard makes contact with his hand.
”Oswald, send a message to my son.”
One of the guards takes over the reigns of the carriage horses as Oswald turns back and sits beside the king.
”What is it you wish me to send, my liege?”
”We.. will not participate in this upcoming war with the Immortal ones.”
Oswald makes a surprised expression and quickly turns it back into his normal face.
”I understand.”
He walks back out into the front compartment and a raven comes to his whistle and lands to his shoulder. It grabs the letter with the royal seal in his hand into its beak, and flies off back into the direction they came.
The king bows his head and prays to the god of light.
I fear for this harsh winter that will soon fall upon us.. Helios, save us all..