[The Abbasid Caliphate, the deserts near Sinai, April of 793]
The heat was a physical thing, pressing down on the chest like a slab of stone. It baked the air until it shimmered, blurring the horizon into a haze of gold and white. There was no sound but the dry, rasping breath in their lungs.
Two figures trudged across the vast desert, half-dressed, dragging exotic weapons and gear in a ridiculously impractical way. The coarse, burning sand of the desert shifted under Aurelian's steel boots. The sky was an endless, blinding orange, indifferent and silent.
Aurelian stood still, letting the brutal reality settle. The coarse, burning sand of the desert shifted under his steel boots. The sky was an endless, blinding orange, indifferent and silent.
A jarring, annoying voice shattered the serene silence.
"Literally, unquestionably, undeniably the middle of fucking nowhere, if fucking nowhere had a capital city, this would be it, and... and this would be the main street of fucking nowhere, and the lord mayor would be Fucking No One, presiding over nowhere in a place where there is no one around to give a fuck."
Aurelian squinted ahead, his voice dry, strained, and irritated. "Keep moving, Gabriel. We need to find water before we die of thirst or heat. And I'm not losing my armor set."
Gabriel rasped, his voice cracking. "Going where? Who says there's water in the direction we're walking?"
"There's always water," Aurelian said, without turning. "You just have to keep moving forward."
Gabriel stopped walking. "Are you dumb? This is a desert. There is no water anywhere."
"And look at those stupid vultures above us!" Gabriel snapped, pointing at the circling shadows overhead. "Do you know what that means, Aurelian? It means we're going to die soon! I'm losing my Black Knight Cavalry set in the fucking desert to vultures! And it's all your fault!"
Aurelian finally turned, his face half-burnt by the sun, half-covered in sand and sweat. "My fault? How the fuck is us spawning in the middle of the desert my fault? You think I picked the location? You think I pressed 'spawn in the middle of fucking nowhere' for fun?"
"And you aren't even half as tired or burned as I am!" Gabriel barked, his voice hoarse. "Your armor's light, the Black Knife set. Mine's the Blackened Knight Cavalry set. Do you know what 'Cavalry' and 'Blackened' mean, Gabriel? It means it's super fucking heavy and it super fucking hot! I'm cooking alive in this shit!"
Aurelian threw up his hands. "Who the fuck told you to choose it, you idiot? How is that even my fault?"
That was enough. Gabriel lunged forward, grabbing Aurelian by the neck and dragging him down into the sand. The two tumbled, arms and legs tangling, throwing up waves of hot dust as they rolled down a dune.
"Let—go—of—me—!" Gabriel snarled, pulling at Aurelian's hair.
"Not—until—you—shut—up—!" Aurelian growled back, shoving a handful of sand into his face.
"MY EYES!"
They rolled and cursed, kicking and clawing until the fight just… burned itself out. The two ended up sprawled in the sand, side by side, chests heaving, faces red, hair full of sand. For a long moment, neither spoke; only the wind moved, carrying the faint hiss of shifting dunes.
Gabriel finally muttered, "You're a fucking idiot."
Aurelian didn't even look at him. "Takes one to fight one."
Then came the sound: voices, faint but growing, carried by the wind. Both froze. Gabriel turned his head first, squinting past Aurelian's shoulder.
"…Aurelian."
"What?"
"There are people," Gabriel said flatly. "Lots of people."
Aurelian craned his neck, following Gabriel's gaze, and sure enough, dark figures stood against the horizon, half-hidden by the glare.
For one breath, neither moved. Then, at the exact same time, both scrambled to their feet, swearing under their breath.
"Shitshitshit, get up, get your armor!"
"I am getting it, stop yelling!"
They stumbled toward the pile of scattered gear, half-dressed, dragging their weapons and armor into place as fast as they could. The voices in the distance grew louder.
After strapping on their armor, Gabriel took the lead, the blackened plates of his cavalry set gleaming dull under the sun, his bastard sword resting heavy in his hands. Aurelian, lighter and faster, moved behind him, the barbed petals of his whip dragging through the sand, a short sword sheathed at his hip.
twenty riders slowed, circling them like wolves testing strange prey. Sand kicked up beneath their horses' hooves, the air thick with heat and tension. Then, as if by signal, they drew apart, parting their ranks to make way for a single rider.
An old, heavy man on a white horse emerged from between them, his robes strained around his stomach, his face red and slick with sweat. His eyes, small and sharp beneath his turban, fixed on the two armored figures before him.
He spat into the sand and raised a trembling hand.
"Infidels."
he bellowed, the Arabic word ringing across the hot, still desert air. "Lay down your arms and submit to the Caliph's justice, or be cut down where you stand!"
The blood splashed before the pain registered, and the magnificent, bloody whip danced through the air. Aurelian wasted no time on empty talk, reducing the numerical gap with ruthless efficiency.
The first rider cried out, clutching his face, feeling pain he'd never imagined. The Barbed Petal Whip wasn't designed to kill instantly, but a single hit was guaranteed to leave anyone struck unable to fight, and on the very edge of death without immediate treatment.
Seeing the infidels attack, the remaining cavalry charged without hesitation, attempting to ride them down.
Just as they were closing, blood drew once more, and the metallic sound of the whip appeared again. But this time it struck the horses. The powerful beasts screamed and threw their riders. Struck by the whip, they bolted, running wildly across the sand, leaving trails of blood behind them. Aurelian didn't need to kill the men; he just needed to neutralize their mobility.
Seeing the whip carve through flesh and air alike, the remaining horses balked and reared, screaming in panic. Even the most battle-hardened steed wouldn't charge into that flaying storm, and these were no warhorses.
The riders swore and struggled to control them, but it was useless. One after another, they were forced to dismount, forming a loose ring around the two strangers. Their eyes locked on Aurelian, the real threat, the one whose whip painted the sand red.
But Gabriel was already moving. His heavy blade came up in both hands, gleaming dully in the harsh sun. One swing from that weapon promised death outright.
The riders couldn't even encircle them. Every time one tried to Gabriel , Aurelian's whip cracked, cutting the air and their courage alike. He had carved a denial zone around Gabriel, an invisible circle of death and agony. Better to die quickly to the sword, they realized, than to writhe for hours under the kiss of that whip.