The air hung thick with the acrid scent of scorched stone, mingling with the fresh metallic tang of new steel being forged. The blacksmiths—orcish craftsmen Raven had carefully sought out—moved with relentless precision, their hammer strikes ringing in a steady rhythm that echoed through the depths of the Citadel. The Voidfang Arbalest prototype lay on a table nearby, its sleek, obsidian body a testament to both ancient craftsmanship and Raven’s growing ambitions.
Raven watched the scene with calculating eyes, standing atop a platform overlooking the entire forge. Below him, the first steps of mass production were taking shape. Every detail mattered—each bolt, each rune, every adjustment needed to be perfect. There was no room for error in the weapon that would become the backbone of his Death Army.
“Progress?” Raven’s voice cut through the din like a blade.
One of the orc blacksmiths, a towering figure named Grash, stepped forward. His muscular frame was covered in soot, but his golden eyes gleamed with determination.
“We’ve refined the design, Sovereign,” Grash said, his voice a deep rumble. “The first batch of Voidfang Arbalests will be ready within the week. However, mass production at this scale will require more resources—exotic metals, energy cores, and skilled runesmiths.”
Raven nodded, processing the information quickly. He had already anticipated these obstacles. The Citadel’s reserves would last for now, but if they were to grow into a force capable of dominating the Shattered Expanse, they would need to secure additional resources.
Khaon, standing beside him, crossed his arms. “We’ll need to expand our operations. Strike deals or... take what we need.”
A faint smile touched Raven’s lips. “Taking what we need has a certain appeal. But first, we’ll exhaust other options.” His gaze shifted back to the forge. “Grash, focus on the first batch. Leave the rest to me.”
Grash inclined his head. “It will be done, Sovereign.”
---
Gathering the Army
Raven left the forge and made his way through the Citadel’s winding halls, his steps echoing in the ancient corridors. The weight of history seemed to press down on the stone walls, as though the Citadel itself was watching, waiting for what was to come.
In the central courtyard, dozens of recruits—his Death Army—stood in formation. These were the survivors of his ruthless trials, each of them handpicked for their strength, resilience, and, most importantly, their lack of fear in the face of death.
Raven’s eyes swept over them, his gaze sharp and commanding. He could see it in their faces—the raw potential, the hunger for something greater. He had forged them through fire and fear, and now they stood ready to become something more.
“You have passed the first test,” Raven said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “But this is only the beginning. You were chosen because you possess the one quality that sets you apart from the rest: fearlessness. Now, you will become the vanguard of a new order—an army that will reshape the Shattered Expanse.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, their eyes alight with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
“But strength alone will not be enough,” Raven continued. “You will be armed with weapons unlike anything the world has seen. The Voidfang Arbalest is only the first of many. Together, we will forge a future where none can stand against us.”
The recruits straightened, their resolve hardening. This was what they had been waiting for—a chance to become part of something greater than themselves.
---
Securing the Future
Later that evening, Raven and Khaon convened in the Citadel’s war room. The chamber was dimly lit, its walls lined with ancient maps and tactical schematics. A large table stood at the center, covered in blueprints for the Voidfang Arbalest and other weapons still in the planning stages.
Khaon leaned over the table, his silver eyes reflecting the flickering light of the lanterns. “The Death Army is taking shape, but we still lack the numbers to hold our ground against the established factions. If the Blackthorn Mercenaries or the Duskborn Syndicate catch wind of what we’re building, they won’t hesitate to strike.”
Raven tapped his fingers on the table, his mind already several steps ahead. “Then we need alliances. Temporary ones, if necessary. I’ll reach out to Kaela and her Blackthorn Mercenaries first. She owes me a favor—and she’ll want to be on the winning side when things escalate.”
“And if she refuses?” Khaon asked.
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Raven’s smirk was cold. “Then we make an example of her. Either way, she won’t stand in our way for long.”
Khaon nodded, satisfied with the plan. “And the resources? Grash mentioned exotic metals and energy cores. We’ll need to secure those soon.”
“I’m already working on that,” Raven said, his tone cryptic. “There’s a merchant caravan passing through the eastern trade routes in two days. They carry exactly what we need.”
Khaon raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”
Raven’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Let’s just say... I have my sources.”
---
An Unseen Threat
As the conversation continued, a sudden chill swept through the war room. Raven’s instincts flared—a sensation he had learned never to ignore. He glanced toward the doorway, his eyes narrowing.
“Someone’s here,” he murmured.
Khaon tensed, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
A shadow flickered at the edge of the lantern light, and a figure stepped into view. It was Ezryn, the information broker Raven had dealt with in Hollowshade. His expression was grim, his usual sly demeanor replaced by something far more serious.
“We need to talk,” Ezryn said, his voice low. “You’re being watched.”
Raven’s gaze sharpened. “By whom?”
“The Duskborn Syndicate,” Ezryn replied. “They’ve taken an interest in your activities. Word is, they’re planning to send a scouting party to... investigate.”
Khaon cursed under his breath. “How long do we have?”
“Two days. Maybe less,” Ezryn said. “They’ll want to gather intel before making any moves, but it won’t be long before they act.”
Raven leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The timing was inconvenient, but not insurmountable. If anything, it was an opportunity—a chance to send a message.
“Let them come,” Raven said, a dangerous edge in his voice. “We’ll be ready.”
---
Preparing the Ambush
The next day was a flurry of activity. Traps were set around the Citadel’s perimeter, and scouts were posted at key vantage points. The recruits were drilled relentlessly, their training intensified under Khaon’s watchful eye.
Raven spent hours in the forge, working alongside Grash and his team to ensure the first batch of Voidfang Arbalests was ready. Every weapon was tested, every rune checked and re-checked. Failure was not an option.
By nightfall, the Citadel was a fortress—silent, waiting, and deadly.
Raven stood at the top of the main tower, his eyes scanning the horizon. The night was calm, but he knew better than to trust appearances.
“They’ll be here soon,” Khaon said, joining him.
Raven nodded. “Good. Let’s give them a welcome they won’t forget.”
The Citadel Awakens
The air was colder now, biting and sharp, as Raven stood atop the Citadel's battlements. The dark sky stretched out above him, a canvas of swirling clouds and faint stars. The flickering torches along the walls cast long shadows, illuminating the restless movement of his growing army below. Every recruit was preparing—sharpening blades, adjusting armor, and rehearsing drills with an intensity born of purpose.
The Citadel, once a hollow shell of its former self, had become something alive. Raven could feel it in every stone, every breath of wind that carried the scent of steel and fire. His instincts hummed, a familiar pulse in his mind, guiding his thoughts. It was not a question of whether they would be attacked. It was a question of when.
Khaon’s footsteps echoed softly behind him, steady and deliberate.
“The scouts have confirmed the caravan’s route,” Khaon said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “They’ll pass near the Shadowfang Ravine at dusk tomorrow. It’s the perfect place for an ambush.”
Raven nodded, the gears of his mind turning. “We’ll need to strike fast and precise. No survivors who can report back to their masters. The resources they carry are critical for our next phase.”
“Understood,” Khaon said. He glanced down at the bustling courtyard. “And the recruits? Will they be ready for something this serious?”
“They’ll be ready,” Raven said without hesitation. “If they aren’t, they’ll have no place in the Death Army.”
---
The First Ambush
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon the next day, Raven and his forces had already positioned themselves along the Shadowfang Ravine. The landscape was jagged and unforgiving—sheer cliffs rising on either side, leaving a narrow path for travelers to follow. It was the perfect chokepoint for an ambush.
Raven crouched behind a boulder, his cloak blending into the shadows. Beside him, Khaon was a silent sentinel, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Further down the ravine, several squads of recruits lay in wait, their Voidfang Arbalests gleaming faintly in the fading light.
The sound of creaking wagon wheels and muffled voices reached his ears, growing louder with each passing second.
“There,” Raven whispered. His sharp eyes picked out the caravan—a column of heavily laden wagons escorted by armored guards.
“Fifteen guards,” Khaon muttered, counting quickly. “Well-armed, but not expecting trouble.”
“Good,” Raven said, a cold smile playing at his lips. “We’ll show them how wrong they are.”
He raised his hand, signaling the attack.
The first volley of bolts from the Voidfang Arbalests struck with deadly precision. Guards fell before they even had time to draw their swords, their bodies collapsing in the dust. Panic erupted as the remaining guards scrambled to form a defensive line, shouting orders and brandishing their weapons.
Raven moved like a shadow, his blade flashing in the dim light. He struck with ruthless efficiency, each motion calculated and lethal. Around him, his recruits fought with surprising discipline, their training paying off in full.
The battle was over in minutes. The ground was littered with the bodies of the guards, and the wagons stood unscathed, their precious cargo intact.
Khaon wiped his blade clean, surveying the scene with satisfaction. “Flawless execution. They didn’t stand a chance.”
“Good,” Raven said, his gaze fixed on the wagons. “Now, let’s see what treasures they were hiding.”
---
Spoils of War
The wagons were filled with everything they needed—crates of rare metals, barrels of alchemical reagents, and, most importantly, energy cores brimming with raw power. Raven examined one of the cores, its surface pulsing with a soft blue light. It was a perfect fit for the Voidfang Arbalests.
“This will accelerate our plans,” Raven said, his eyes gleaming. “With these resources, we can double production. The Death Army will be armed and ready far sooner than expected.”
Khaon chuckled. “The Duskborn Syndicate won’t know what hit them.”
Raven’s expression darkened. “They’ll know soon enough. But first, we need to deal with their scouts.”
---
A Game of Shadows
Back at the Citadel, preparations for the next phase began immediately. The forge roared to life once more, Grash and his team working tirelessly to incorporate the newly acquired materials. The Voidfang Arbalests underwent further refinement, their power growing with each iteration.
Meanwhile, Raven and Khaon planned their counterstrike against the Duskborn Syndicate’s scouts. They would not wait for their enemy to make the first move.
Ezryn provided the critical information—locations, names, and routes. The scouts were scattered across several key points near the Citadel, gathering intelligence on Raven’s activities.
“We’ll take them out one by one,” Raven said, studying the map. “No noise, no mess. Just clean, surgical strikes.”
---
The First Strike
Nightfall cloaked the Citadel in darkness as Raven led a small team through the dense forest surrounding the scouts’ encampment. The air was thick with tension, every step calculated and silent.
Raven’s instincts flared, guiding him through the shadows. He could feel the presence of their targets—five scouts huddled around a dying campfire, their conversation low and cautious.
With a swift motion, Raven signaled his team to surround the camp.
The attack was quick and brutal. In the span of a heartbeat, the campfire was extinguished, and the forest fell into a deadly silence. When the dust settled, not a single scout remained.
---
A Message Sent
Back at the Citadel, Raven stood before his army once more. The recruits had grown stronger, their confidence bolstered by their recent victories. The Death Army was no longer just a concept—it was becoming a reality.
“The Duskborn Syndicate will soon realize their mistake,” Raven said, his voice ringing through the courtyard. “But by then, it will be too late. We are not just an army. We are a force of nature—a storm that will sweep across the Shattered Expanse and leave nothing but our mark.”
The recruits roared in response, their voices echoing through the Citadel.
Raven turned, his cloak billowing behind him. He could feel it in his bones—the tide was turning. His rise was inevitable.
And soon, the world would know the true power of the Death Army.