Call to Arms

The writing was on the wall.

The Sword Army seemed to be prevailing against the enemy, for now, but as its losses mounted and the horde of the dead puppets grew… there was no escaping the eventual defeat.

If Sunny could see it, then Anvil could see it, as well.

And yet, the King of Swords was not doing anything. The only orders he gave were minor commands, like sending reserve units to reinforce the faltering sections of the battlefront or pulling back heavily battered battalions. His tactical prowess was immaculate, true, but that was hardly enough to remedy the situation.

At the moment, the Sovereign was simply watching the carnage silently, his steely eyes not revealing any emotion. 

It was as if he was waiting for something, or maybe simply putting too much trust into his domineering authority.

His presence was, indeed, more suffocating than the sweltering heat. 

Sunny scowled behind his mask.