- - - > xox K•A xox < - - -

A feral grin ripped across Kleinnard's face. “Wahahaha!” His heart pounded a primal rhythm, a drumbeat against his ribs echoing the stillness around Lake Treffen. Those mercenary rabble - easy pickings.

Beside him, the Vorst Warden, Vadorecht droned on. He barely listened. Old boars with his speeches. His fingers twitched, itching for his weapon. Soon, he'd paint this place red. He could smell their fear. He licked his lips, the grin splitting his face wider. Soon, the hunt begins.

Vadorecht's voice grated on his nerves like a rusty blade. "What mischief stirs in their bellies, abandoning the fort's embrace for open ground?" the old boar preened as he jabbed his spear into the ground, probably thinking himself clever as ever. "And attacking at dimlight... curious indeed."

"Wahahaha! They think they can outsmart us? These mongrels haven't got a fang between 'em!" He rapped his knuckles on his weapon's hilt, the sharp clack a taste of the carnage to come.

"Perhaps a test, Lieutenant." Vadorecht's raspy bark, a vulture's cry against the wind whipping across the lake. "A feint to gauge our strength." The old suid squinted at the approaching mercenaries. "Regardless, be on your guard. This sudden strike..."

He tuned him out. Treachery? Let the old boar wet himself with worry. These weren't strategists, they were prey.

"Two hundred mongrels, maybe?" He spat, a cruel laugh rattling in his chest. "They'll be whimpering for their mamas soon enough." He sank his grip into the handle of his weapon, pouring his energy into it. Air whirled around his fist, a gathering tempest. With a snarl, he unleashed a compressed vortex of air, an energy blade ripping forth from the weapon's heart.

"One hundred of you filthy hounds, WITH ME! The rest, stay back and watch the show." His words twisted into a hungry snarl. "We’ll gut them like fish and leave ‘em for the scavengers! Wahahaha!"

His weapon, the Extrusion Wind Hanger whistled, a sharp keen as it sliced through the air. Behind him, a hundred throats ripped a warcry into the dimming light. They were his hounds, and they were starving.

- - - > oxx Z•L xxo < - - -

Zevas threw back his head, a laugh ripping from his chest. "KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! They’re underestimating us? Good!" His command, a gravelly bellow, cut through the chaos: "Steady, lads! Hold the line!" His axe, old friend, felt reassuringly heavy in his grip. Even the dimming light of Solus glinted off the countless battles etched into his axe. "For Kreginnia! CHARGE!"

The earth itself seemed to shudder as his mercenaries charged. A wall of muscle and grit. Elemenium screeched against elemenium, the air alive with the crackle of unleashed energies. A flicker of movement on the battlefield – blue and black slashing through the ranks like a phantom wind. Coming straight for him.

"Shriek!" The impact rattled his teeth. Wind, sharp and sudden, tore at his beard. His axe, infused with his earth energy, held firm against the Miers boy's compressed air. Sparks showered around them, a whirlwind of dust choking the battlefield.

The Miers’ voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the clangor. "Zevas, you turncoat!" Hatred contorted the boy's face, baring a sharp canine tooth in a snarl. "I’ll end you!" The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Knew the boy would come for him.

"End me?" He threw back his head and roared, a laugh that echoed off the clashing energies. "KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! Little Kleinnard’s got jokes, that's a good one! Trying to sound all tough, are we?"

He swung his axe in a wide arc, putting his whole weight behind it. The boy was fast, though. A whistling sound, and the little Miers was gone. He grunted as something—that unruly wind—clipped him on the way past. The sting of it made his blood hum.

"You'll pay for your betrayal, ursine fool!" Kleinnard barked.

“Urgh!” He brought the axe down with a roar, aiming to split the Miers in two.

His axe met a blade of air energy, a screech ringing in his ears. The impact jolted through his arms as his axe tore through the wind blade. He pressed the advantage, the Miers boy giving ground with every shriek and clang. One wrong step, though… He forced the boy back, a grunt escaping his lips.

"Pathetic!" Kleinnard barked, launching another attack.

Earth groaned underfoot with each blow. He spat grit, his vision blurring for a heartbeat as the next gust slammed into his face.

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Let the boy have his dance. He parried a furious blow, the impact shuddering up his arm. Kleinnard was good, he'd give him that, but blind. Too focused on their little duel.

The boy lunged, a whirlwind of energy.

He met the attack head-on, a roar rumbling in his chest. "Come on, boy! Is that all you've got?" He gave ground, feigning a stumble, drawing the Miers further from the center of the fight. Just a little further…

The Light of Solus dipped lower, each flicker in his muscles a screaming reminder. Shroudlight is here. It was time.

“KHAHAHA!" The earth itself seemed to echo his roar as the axehead slammed down. A shockwave burst outwards, pelting dirt and rock. He caught the flash of fear in the eyes of an Imperial soldier just before the dust swallowed him whole. Good…

- - - < ooxxoxxxx > - - -

The earth shuddered, a tremor rippling outward from the mercenary captain’s attack. Energies sang its deadly song as swords met, the air alive with the hiss and whine of projectiles. It was a maelstrom of violence, barely contained by the order of battle.

One of the mercenaries fell, a shriek torn from his throat as crimson bloomed on his chest, staining the ground. Another staggered, clutching a mangled arm, his cries lost in the chaos. More followed, their retreat a carefully crafted illusion of desperation. They stumbled, they fell, playing the part of the overwhelmed, drawing the Imperial soldiers deeper into the web of their deception.

Near the treeline, furthest from the heart of the fight, the charade continued. Mercenaries fled, their pursuers hot on their heels, eager for a decisive victory. The soldiers, blinded by bloodlust, followed their quarry into the shadowy embrace of Kachwyn Forest, unaware that the hunter had become the hunted.

The forest floor crunched softly under the weight of three figures, shadows solidifying into men as they slipped from the trees. Hirua, Einntyr, and Deynfif, draped in the scavenged armor of their enemies, were the tip of Zevas' carefully positioned spear. Ahead, their unwitting prey, a pack of Imperials drunk on the chase, surged forward.

The quiet of the forest shattered – elemenium kissed elemenium, desperate cries ringing out before abruptly ending, swallowed by the trees. Then, silence, heavy and absolute. Moments later, the three figures reemerged. Victory clung to them, a tangible thing.

Hirua, a grimace twisting his features, faltered, a blooming red stain on his arm a stark counterpoint to the stolen armor. "This armor," he muttered, "feels like it's choking my flames."

Deynfif, his expression carefully neutral, inclined his head in a curt nod. "Energy Negation, a necessary constraint," he conceded, his tone clipped. "Air Alloy Armor. Our options were...limited."

Einntyr laughed, a gust of air pushing back against the 'fleeing' mercenaries. "Good thing I can use air! Take this, you mercenary fools! Hehe!" He didn't see Deynfif's subtle wince, or the way Hirua bit back a sigh.

"Einntyr," Deynfif warned, his voice tight, "conserve your lagring's energy for when we reach the camp.”

But Einntyr, fueled by the thrill of battle, was uncontrollable. He blasted forth a gust of air energy that drained his lagring, pushing the remaining mercenaries back with a howling gale. The scene was a perfect picture of Imperial dominance, the terrified expressions on the faces of the ‘defeated’ mercenaries completing the illusion. Hirua, wincing from his self-inflicted wound, played his part to the hilt, his face contorted in a mask of pain.

- - - > oxx Z•L xxo < - - -

A blast of air energy, misplaced, ripped through the air. Zevas flinched. Not the Miers boy's work—this one came from the treeline! That lad's standin' out too much. Time to finish this.

Kleinnard’s assault faltered, distracted.

An opening! He bellowed, slamming his axe into the ground. With Ketvirta-Direction activated, the earth shuddered, a tremor running up his arms to meet his laugh. Craggy spikes, rock turned weapon, erupted around Kleinnard. A roar, choked off as stone swallowed him whole.

"Retreat, men! RETREAT!" A bellow ripped from his chest, raw enough to crack the earth beneath his boots. Blood, hot and metallic, stung his lip — a small price, he’d wager, for what was to come. But Pythair’s lads… He pushed down the knot of worry twisting in his gut. Yet, they were trained for this, weren't they? Surely, they could handle it. No time for doubt, not now.

"Old ursid! Come back here!" The Mier’s boy whined from across the battlefield, his voice thin and reedy.

He threw back a laugh, the sound booming off the trees. “KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! Is that the best you got, boy? Come find me!" He spat a gob of bloody saliva onto the ground. He slapped his axe against his thigh, the solid thunk a period to the retreating boots of his mercenaries.

"I'll kill you someday, I’ll rip you limb from limb, you won’t be able to move, Zevas Lokspfiel! Mark my words!" Kleinnard’s voice was already lost to the wind, swallowed by the growing shadows of Kachwyn Forest. Good riddance.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Blast, that was a risk. He hefted his axe, the worn elemenium a comfort against the chill settling over the battlefield. Pythair... He'd sworn those boys would be safe. He squared his jaw. They'd be fine. They were damn good lads, every one.

The Miers’ campfires flickered in the distance, like hungry eyes. Time to see what those lads were up to. He turned, his boots finding the path his men had carved through the brush. No looking back now.