[Ekroy of Qol]

As the morning came, he left flying banners of gold. With a force several hundred strong, armed with the greatest he could supply, they marched. In their hands were weapons of rune-worked steel, shields imbued with the magics of holy faith.

Head held high, expression fierce, Ekroy of Greater House Qol marched towards destiny.

As night fell, he returned.

Armor in tatters.

Steps ragged.

Ekroy of the Greater House Qol stumbled to the gate of the city, alone.

Utterly alone.

Guards rushed to his aid.

Priests offered healing.

All asked what had befallen him.

All asked what had become of his great entourage: The force by which escorted him on his mission, for the sake of the Empire.

Yet, for all their questions, he could only repeat.

Over, and over, and over again:

All hail.

All hail.

All hail.

........

[The East]

The weeks stretched into months, and the soldiers of the Eastern fort died.

That is not to say they did not fight valiantly, for they did. As was their duty, as was their responsibility: they fought to the end of the battle, of which they would not be the victors. What is more, is that they did so with dignity, if the concept of such exists during a war.

Not one of them chose to run.

Not one of them abandoned their post to flee from the towering mountains of hatred crumbling down upon them. Stone by stone, fragment by fragment.

The Constructs came for them.

With violence, with strategy, and with tricks and wit they had never shown before.

Thick walls were torn asunder. Worked with runes, worked with Magics long forgotten, they fell all the same. Shattered by bloodied claws, even as Mages threw ruthless bombardments of mana like rain from their towers. As Captains bought for time, charging into the brink. As hammers crushed as blades ripped, while arrows tore the air with streaks of light.

The fires began, then. Lighting down the line. From one tower to the next, all across the Eastern border. Not a cry for help, or a plea for reinforcements, but a warning.

As the days past, those lights went out.

One at time.

Some might hold, for days, for weeks, perhaps for months: but one by one they ceased to be.

People watched.

People shouted as they watched.

"We must do something." They would say. "We must do something, before it is too late."

Some people even followed up their words with action, leaving to bolster the forts and defenses. Others watched, secretly grateful for less mouths to feed. For the fact that it was not they, themselves, who was forced to go.

Those who left never returned.

The Empire reacted, as best it could. Lacking ships, they sent caravans. They sent mercenaries. They sent weapons, and food. They repaired small skiffs, in place of the larger battle-ready fleets they once relied upon.

But none of those returned, either.

The Academy put their Mages to work, forging weapons and technology to mount upon the City walls. To give to Empire patrols, who guarded trade with the Western coast. The supply ships routed to the coast could not be stopped, but additional orders were put in, and specialized tools were delivered.

But these were nothing but stopgap measures. Stalling tactics, as they hoped for a greater solution.

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And one by one, those lights continued to go out.

All down the line.

By days, by weeks.

Until there was no one left but the strongest fortresses, trapped and encircled by countless enemies. Fighting without the support of the numerous ships once relied upon to ferry supplies and reinforcements.

Only those who resided in the City of The Emperor, the bastion of mankind itself, were truly safe. Filled with all manner of refugees, peasants, nobles, trapped within those glorious walls.

All praying for help that never seemed to come.

........

Chapter 35

[Rocky]

The Creator rebuilt him within a day, but weeks later and Rocky could still remember what it felt like to be helpless.

He could still remember what it was like to watch as his brothers cease to be. The moment when their cores were shattered, and whatever made them exist, disappeared.

Disappeared, so that not even the Creator could bring them back.

He remembered the Creator trying, so carefully, for so long, to piece Gorf's core back together. To make it whole once more.

Yet, the pieces never seemed to fit.

No matter how the Creator tried. No matter how often he returned to them, to try again.

What was once Gorf, sat on the grand table that rested at the bottom the stairs.

Broken.

Emotions were difficult for Rocky, but if he focused they were present.

He felt them often.

He felt as though it were his fault.

The two humans had come, and told Rocky to warn the Creator.

Rocky had failed to do that properly.

He had failed, and now as a result: his brothers were gone.

Golems were meant to be destroyed, he knew. This was natural and expected. That was what his core told him, and what every shred of evidence pointed to.

Especially now, as the Creator made more Golem.

Golem without names.

They lacked the hardwork and effort that had been put into making him. Or Gorf, or his other brothers, who had long spent their time below in the depths. Rocky had not known the others well, but they had been his brothers all the same.

His new brothers were not replacements for them.

They could never be.

Apart from the times he appeared to check on Rocky, or to make sure the tree was not lacking: the Creator worked to create more Golem nonstop.

First, there were only a few.

Then, after taking those few down below, the Creator returned with a dozen.

Then a dozen more.

The humans dared not approach again, and the creatures that the Creator had been troubled by in the depths had not returned, so there was nothing to break up the continuous cycle of creation.

His new brothers mined in the depths, assisting the Creator.

With what crystals they mined, they helped gather the resources to create more brothers.

There was a system in place.

Of those who were not needed for mining, most were sent out with orders that Rocky did not know. They went out along the roads in the distance. Stomping off across the fields towards destinations unknown.

And each week that passed, there were more.

Some were sent to stand at the edge of the Creator's influence and help Rocky guard the growing tree.

Some were kept underground, until enough were gathered to be sent out into the distance.

But many more worked on projects Rocky never saw directly.

Their numbers were growing large.

Rocky did not know exactly how many Golem existed now, but he knew he'd counted at least a hundred above the surface, and there were still more below.

What was more, is they were all powerful. Each was at least as strong as Rocky, before being rebuilt.

Rocky, of course, was now stronger than any of them, having recieved special attention by the Creator. His body was carefully crafted, but the new Golem were built upon a foundation of [Greater Sentient Golem] right from the start. The magic the Creator used to make their bodies did not fight itself nearly as hard as it had when forming the others, making it quicker for the Creator to mold them.

And through these new Golem, progress had continued at a blistering pace.

Many messages flashed past Rocky's core, and many new thoughts came to him. Knowledge unlocking as improvements were made. More and more ideas to use, not just in combat, but a variety of other applications.

Rocky could think very clearly, compared to his early days.

It was impressive.

Just a handful of Golems had advanced quickly, if only due to the Creator's care in making them as strong as possible. But over a hundred advanced impossibly quick. Out in the distance, beyond Rocky's ability to see and discern, his new brothers were fighting.

Many battles, scattered in many directions, but mostly on the side closer to city where the humans often came from.

The "East" as the Creator had called it.

His core identified that as a compass direction.

"Travel in groups. Don't bring attention to yourselves. Unless you're attacked, you are only allowed to hunt Monsters and Constructs."

Rocky had overheard the Creator provide those orders to the most recent Golems he sent out into the world.

With every defeated foe, he and his brothers all gained the rewards. The more of them there were, the more enemies they could defeat, and the stronger they could become.

It was a genius idea.

Something that Gorf might have come up with-

Rocky stopped that line of thinking.

Sometimes, it was better not to think.

He had a purpose, after all.

So he waited, trying his best not to think, until the two humans appeared again.

This time, the creator was there to see them, and he did not allow them to approach.

All in all, it did not go well.

There were words. But these were too distant for Rocky to understand.

Then, there was some shouting. Which Rocky did understand, but not much of it was particularly useful. This was followed by no small amount of fire.

Then, there were more quiet words.

Several of the new brothers gathered, and they were sent back with the humans when they left.

Rocky heard the command to "Protect."

He was glad, he realized.

After the battle, Rocky realized that he had not liked breaking humans.

He had done it.

He could do it again.

Still...

If breaking humans was anything like breaking his brothers, Rocky didn't want to.

He was supposed to Defend and Protect, after all.

Those were the two commands his core first interpreted upon his formation. They were his purpose. They were the very reason he existed.

But, the more he pondered them, the more troubling the creator's commands became.

If he had to break things... wasn't he going against these commands?

In some small way, wasn't he doing the opposite, by breaking things?

Breaking something was hardly protecting it.

Defending something didn't always mean he had to break things.

Certainly, breaking a squishy human was different from breaking a wagon. Rocky knew that a wagon could be put back together. The Creator had shown him this several times, if only so he and Gorf could throw one for fun.

People and Golem though... these were different.

These things could not always be put back together.

Rocky felt troubled.

Troubled in a way that he wasn't even sure what questions to ask, much less what their answers might be.

He wished Gorf were with him.

Gorf would know.

Rocky was certain of it.