[Middle city — Holy capital of Slane Theocracy] [view from the Night sky]
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To the cold heights of the night sky, the capital resembled a bursting, necrotic ulcer. The Outer District drowned in unnatural viridian fire that flowed through the streets like a predatory tide, casting a bruising, sickly radiance. Greasy ash fell like dirty snow, carrying a nauseating stench of bitter copper and crypt dust.
With an agonizing groan that vibrated through the bedrock, the eastern span of the Outer Wall buckled and gave way. Through the massive breach poured a nightmare tide: thousands of shambling corpses, skeletal warriors, and bounding ghouls spilt into the city like black water through a broken dam.
Below, the capital's main arteries choked with a terrified exodus of townsfolk and broken guards surging toward the Middle District. Desperate final stands were instantly broken. A holy ward cast by bleeding mages fizzled the moment the creeping green fog touched its edge. Rows of halberdiers were swallowed whole by the crushing mass of rotting flesh, and a brave cavalry charge of silver-armored paladins vanished beneath a crashing wave of skeletal hands.
The horde rolled on, an unstoppable engine of extermination.
The chaos bled into the Middle City's cobbled avenues, where panic wore torn silk and ruined velvet. The orderly exchange of coins dissolved into a frantic stampede. Overturned bales of exotic spices were trampled into the muck, and heavy merchant wagons locked wheels in intersections. Desperate drivers whipped their terrified draft horses, whose frantic kicking only tangled the harnesses further.
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[The Middle District — The Gilded Ledger Merchant Company]
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Inside the opulent, third-story office of the Gilded Ledger Merchant Company, the world was being torn apart from the inside.
"The bonds! I need the Imperial Bonds!"
The merchant named Marcellus was destroying his own sanctuary. He was a heavy, flush-faced man, his tailored velvet doublet dark with sweat under the arms. Exquisitely carved mahogany drawers were yanked entirely from their housings and upended onto the woven rugs. Ming vases, worth more than a peasant's lifetime of brutal labor, were kicked aside, shattering into meaningless, glittering shards.
"Master! Forget the parchment!" Hannes, his assistant, stood paralyzed by the bay window. His eyes reflected the terrible green glow from outside. "Look at the square! The Middle Gate barricades are splintering! That... that fog is spilling into the market!"
"You don't understand!" the merchant shrieked, his heavy jowls trembling with a toxic mix of exertion and rage. He grabbed a fistful of crinkled, wax-sealed documents, shoving them brutally into an overflowing leather satchel. "These carry the Emperor's own seal! If we abandon these ledgers, the company is bankrupt! We'll be begging for scraps in the Southern Provinces!"
"We'll be dead if we stay!" Hannes abandoned all protocol, grabbing the heavier man by the shoulders and shaking him. It was a shocking breach of station that registered only vaguely in the merchant's panicked mind. "Listen to the street! The City Watch is broken! The undead are marching!"
Marcellus slapped the hands away with a furious grunt, his heavy gold rings leaving an angry red scratch across Hannes's cheek. "I paid the guild tax! The Cardinals guaranteed our safety! Where are the Angels? Where are the holy wards they promised us?"
He spun toward the heavy iron safe embedded in the stone wall, his pudgy fingers slipping frantically on the brass combination dial. "I have a statuette of the Earth God. Solid gold. It's heavy, yes, but if we drop the accounting ledgers, we can."
CRASH.
The sound came from downstairs. The heavy, iron-reinforced oak of the company's grand front doors splintered inward with the concussive force of a battering ram.
Silence hung over the office for a terrible fraction of a second. Marcellus stopped breathing.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed in the marble foyer below. It was accompanied by a distinct, agonizing sound: the scrape of rusted metal dragging relentlessly against polished wood.
"No... no, no, no..." Hannes backed slowly away from the mahogany door of the office, his hands raised as if to ward off a physical blow.
A sudden scream echoed up from the kitchens. It was the head cook, a shrill, desperate wail that was abruptly choked off into a short gurgle. Then, only the dripping of something thick hitting the floor tiles.
Marcellus froze, his hand still resting on the dial. The safe gave a satisfying mechanical click and swung smoothly open, revealing the gold statuette resting on a bed of crimson velvet. It gleamed beautifully in the dim light of the hearth.
He looked at the gold. He looked at the closed office door.
The footsteps were climbing the stairs. Thump... scrape... Thump... scrape.
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The Next 15 Chapters + 10 Bonus Chapters
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