Entering the Reaper's domain

Here's a refined and professionaFires raged in all directions, casting a hellish glow over the battlefield. The lower-class wildlings shrieked and howled, their frenzied attacks met with the brutal efficiency of Erebus's warriors. Their blades carved through the creatures with ease, but the true horror lay in what followed.

The mother wildling lay lifeless at Erebus's feet, her skull split open where his axe had struck. A dark pool of blood seeped from the gaping wound, its thick scent filling the air. Already, insects swarmed over her still-warm flesh. Erebus remained motionless, waiting. He knew what came next.

Jafar had warned him—wildling corpses did not simply decay. Their bodies self-destructed, triggered by a final hormonal surge in the brain upon death. It was a cruel defense mechanism, one designed to ensure their predator perished alongside them. The lower-class wildlings had already begun closing in, their instincts demanding retribution. If they reached him now, they would force him into the blast radius.

But Erebus was faster. With a powerful leap, he propelled himself into the air, dodging their grasping claws. As he rose, his keen senses detected an anomaly—movement in the distance, against the natural flow of the battle. Someone was retreating, slipping through the chaos with purpose.

He did not hesitate.

"As expected… Alaksad's messenger."

Erebus descended with lethal precision, his armored boots slamming into the ground as he caught the fleeing man by the collar. The messenger gasped, choking under the iron grip, his fingers clawing uselessly at Erebus's arm. The more he struggled, the tighter the hold became.

With a powerful throw, Erebus sent him tumbling across the stone walkway, where he crashed against the base of a crossbow tower. The impact left him gasping, his breath coming in ragged heaves. Erebus approached with slow, deliberate steps, his shadow stretching long over the broken figure.

"For a mere tool, you seem to have underestimated us," he said, crouching down to seize the man's collar once more.

The messenger remained silent, his trembling gaze betraying his fear.

Erebus grinned. "How about a deal?"

The man's lips parted in surprise. "A… a deal?" he stammered.

"A simple one. I don't ask for much. In return, I can free you from your master's grip."

The messenger hesitated. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Erebus smirked. "You don't. But you do know this—Alaksad played you for a fool. That map he gave you? A fake."

The man's breath hitched. Erebus could see the realization settling in, the weight of betrayal pressing against his already fragile will.

"You confirmed it yourself, didn't you?" Erebus continued, his voice low and knowing. "I saw you at the foot of the cliffs, studying it in frustration. You aren't a messenger—you're a pawn. A disposable one at that."

A beat of silence passed. Then, the man broke. "Anything," he whispered. "I'll do anything. Just… let me go."

"Well said."

Erebus hauled him up and took to the skies, slipping past the watchful eyes of the guards. The wind howled past them as they soared above the towering city walls, the rooftops lined with grim reaper statues staring down in silent judgment.

"Where?" Erebus demanded.

The messenger's trembling hand pointed toward the distant hills. A massive structure loomed beyond them, unlike the city's grey and white architecture. Its red-bricked roof stood out against the pale sky, and its whitewashed walls stretched impossibly wide—twice the size of Erebus's own fortress, though his had history and legacy behind it. This, however, was something else entirely.

They landed in the vast garden. The sheer scale of it stunned even Erebus—rows of meticulously tended flowers spread from east to west, forming patterns only visible from above. A frail old man hobbled past them, a metal cuff clamped tightly around his ankle.

"Slaves," Erebus noted, recognizing the sigil engraved on the shackle.

The grand doors ahead creaked open, and a servant stepped out. "Lord Alaksad awaits you."

Erebus frowned. He knew I was coming. The watch is tighter than expected.

Without a word, he pushed the messenger forward, ensuring he stayed within reach. They followed the servant through shadowed corridors, lit only by streaks of sunlight filtering through narrow windows. As they ascended a flight of stone steps, Erebus stole a glance outside. From this height, the garden's design became clear—the flowers had been arranged into the shape of a grim reaper.

A fitting omen.

Rumors of Bacia Alaksad had long circulated through the capital. Some claimed he sustained himself on the souls of the living. Others whispered that his appetite extended beyond humans, beyond even the Amanécerians. His true prize, they said, were the rare hybrids—offspring of humans and Amanécerians, creatures caught between two worlds.

There were darker stories still. It was said he once sought the wife of the vampire commander of the Crown Prince's imperial guards—a woman of ethereal beauty, her bloodline tainted by Amanécerian ancestry.

Erebus had never cared for court gossip, dismissing most as trivial distractions. But Jafar had insisted on feeding him updates. For once, his endless rambling proved useful.

His focus shifted back to the battlefield he had left behind. Were the wildlings still contained? Had Ciaran failed to hold the rear?

His thoughts were cut short as they halted before a pair of massive white doors.

Erebus barely had a moment to react.

A thick, inky fog surged from the room beyond, rushing outward like the breath of some ancient beast. It engulfed the corridor, its sheer force sending the servant and messenger into a frenzied panic.

A shriek tore through the air.

"F-Forgive me, Master! I was forced—!"

A gleaming blade arced through the darkness, its curve slicing clean through flesh and bone. The messenger's head tumbled to the floor, his lips still forming pleas for mercy as his lifeless eyes stared in horror.

Erebus stepped back, shielding his face against the swirling black mist. The sunlight caught on the steel of his trench blades, glinting like sharpened fangs.

A deep, rasping voice rumbled from within the darkness.

"It seems I have an uninvited guest."