17 July 678AC

The 21st Year of the Reign of the Exarch Alexandros Claudius

The 58th Year of Nikelo Occupation

"Kill him!" The cloaked man shouted. "Don't let the Exarch get away!'

Taking a step back from his Nikelo opponent, Mehrdad blocked his attack with a wave of his shield, then plunged his sword up his unarmoured armpit. The Nikelo screamed out in pain, before Mehrdad kicked him to the ground, pulled his sword out, and silenced him. Turning away from his opponent, his head swiveled over towards the Exarch, who was at the moment being pulled away by a number of white-plumed elite officers. "Kill him! We can't let that fucking tyrant live!"

Joining a number of rebels who had disengaged from the fight, Mehrdad rushed forward with his blood stained sword in his hand, part of it chipped and broken from the dozens of engagements he had been in these past months. Turning down the corner, he found one of the officers having stopped. Wearing a heavy box on his back with a heavy nozzle set in his hands. Nikelo fire. One of the rebels plunged forward, intent on killing the flamer before he could pull the trigger, but was blasted by a wave of sticky liquid that burnt the skin and muscle off the man.

Before the flames could reach Mehrdad, another rebel stopped forward. Drinking a vial of human blood, the rebel screamed to the sky before punching down into the ground. A wave of earth rode forward, causing the flamer to lose his footing as he fell backwards, his flames flying in all directions as he lost control of himself. Seeing an opportunity, Mehrdad ran forward across the charred earth and plunged his sword into the eye of the Nikelo flamer, killing the man immediately. He was a lucky man, they had bigger prey to tend to.

"Forward! Forward! Don't forget all the children he's murdered! We need to kill that bastard!"

The Rebel Commandant rushed forward ahead of the rest, as he waved his mace in the air. Giving a roar, Mehrdad joined his comrades-in-arms as he followed his commander in their charge through the narrow streets.

58 years had passed since Napros had been taken over by Nikelo forces, and in that time, the world had changed. Alexandros Claudius, known to many as the burning flame, had been appointed to the Exarchate of Napros 21 years ago, and his reign had been a terrible one, and had only gotten worse as time passed. Old Napros, ever golden, was tainted red. The Statue which bore the name of their founder, Heliogabalus, had had his head demolished, replaced with a horrendous image of the four-natured monster that Alexandros called God. Families would be burnt to death together on pyres for the smallest of excuses, and following a riot, the city cracked down on its civilians in a military operation that left the Khosro wing of the city mutilated and burnt to the ground with five thousand dead. And so, the Naprosi had finally rebelled.

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Rushing down the indistinguishable corridors of the urban battleground, the rebels plunged on the Nikelo defenders like rabid dogs who had nothing to live for. More and more men joined the battlefield in their teeming numbers, and the rebel team soon turned into an army, as locals picked up whatever they could and left their doorways, eager to exact their long sought revenge on the white-plumed invaders.

Sighting the panicking Exarch, the war party let out a fearsome cry as they rushed forward in unision. Mehrdad clattered his shield and sword together as he ran forward, his swift, toned legs helping him overtake the rest of his companions as he ran down the alleyway. Facing a wall, the Exarch let out a yelp as the bellicose rebels rushed forward, but managed to shout an order for his troops to form up into a shield wall .

Mehrdad met the steel wall with a gasp and a leap, and he pushed with all his weight against the unmoving shields in an attempt to break their hold. A number of sharp swords poked out from thin openings, and with a boom, they plunged their swords into the teeming mass, and pushed their shields forward another step. Then another, then another. Still hiding behind the shield, Mehrdad readied his sword for the right opportune, following the testudo formation push forward with every boom. With every shout, they would take a step forward and plunge their swords forwards. The Nikelo troops shouted together, and as the sword appeared from its hiding spot, Mehrdad took his chance.

Grabbing the shield and pulling it to the side, Mehrdad plunged his sword downwards against the Nikelo legionary who stood before him. The Nikelo troop hissed in pain as the sword entered his shoulder, and he let go of his shield in pain. Grabbing his neck before anyone could assist him, Mehrdad pulled the poor legionary out of the formation and threw him towards the floor, whereupon a dozen different Naprosi leapt onto the man, dragging the screaming legionary into the teeming crowd, which roared in approval, hungry for blood. But this was not enough to break the formation, and where the legionary had once been, a new man took his place.

A yell came from the rear, and swiveling about, Mehrdad found the mage who had saved them earlier. Once again drinking a vial, the mage hissed and stomped down into the ground, eager to repeat his feat, but the great mass of steel did not budge or lose their footing. Another one of those infernal hell boxes popped out from a tight opening, and a wave of flames washed over the crowd and the mage before Mehrdad even blinked, and he closed his eyes in horror as heat washed over his body, ignoring the screams of his comrades as they were roasted alive.

As luck would have it, the flamer stopped, and through the dreadful cries of Naprosi rebels and the booming of Nikelo legionnaries, Mehrdad knew what would come next, and pushing aside one of the men behind him, he turned face and ran in fear, as the fourth click confirmed his worst nightmares. The light was the first thing he saw, and even without facing it, he found himself blinded by its whiteness. Then, the heat. He felt something pierce his armoured back, like a number of needles piercing his every pore. His feet left the ground, then, he heard the sound.

Mehrdad found himself on the floor, coughing and hissing. Pain shot through his every orifice, and he struggled to rise. Unable to find his strength, he instead settled to roll around, and he almost immediately regretted his decision. The armour had protected him from the worst of the explosion, but it had not protected his friends. A number of charred remnants lay on the walls of the city block, black shadows where there were once armoured troops. Despite all this, the Exarch lived.

Huffing in fear, something glimmered about the Exarch. In his hands, he held an iron ball with an eye in it, the treasure of Napros. The air shifted, and a blue wave seemed to simmer and part the air as he stepped forward, his eyes full of fear. He looked down to the ball. His free hand rose to his head. He yelled.

Something seemed to bite away at him, and the ground seemed to take him. What seemed like hands seemed to climb out of the ground, each and every one of them latching itself to his feet. Still yelling, he pulled his sword out and began to wave it about in fear as he futilely cut at the dark, formless yet formed hands that surrounded him.

Then he was gone.

And Mehrdad was alone.

His eyes rested on the treasure of Napros, and he felt fear.