The longsword, Doomscourge, was pressed against Iskar's neck. An archlord like this wasn't even worth drawing the war scythe for.

Silence.

The chaotic sky fell quiet. The swarm of vampires, seeing their leader subdued in a single move, vanished back into the blood-mist, fleeing from Orion as if he were the Reaper himself.

Iskar didn't move. He didn't dare speak. A bone-deep chill shot up his spine, his mind still struggling to process what had just happened.

Sizzle.

A flicker of fire ignited along Doomscourge's edge. The doomsday flame licked at Iskar's skin, and he felt the cold, undeniable touch of his own mortality.

"Honored one," Iskar forced out, his voice tight with terror, "could you perhaps retract that unquenchable flame?"

He was horrified to find that his own supernatural power was useless against the fire. Worse, it seemed to be feeding the flames, making them burn hotter.

"A being of your strength is more than qualified to negotiate with Mosela Citadel," he continued, his mind racing. "I am certain that my demigod Progenitor would welcome a visit from you."

He was a clever one. Even on the brink of death, he managed to weave a threat, a plea, and a trap into a single statement. He was reminding Orion that he had a demigod backing him, while simultaneously using the offer of talks to buy time. If he could lure Orion back to Mosela Citadel, the Progenitor would handle it. Even a demigod would think twice before tangling with their entire lineage.

Orion didn't give a damn about his posturing.

He swept his longsword in a wide arc. A wave of fiery energy shot across the sky, igniting the vampires who were attempting to flee. In the next instant, the entire heavens were ablaze. The doomsday flames consumed the blood-mist, and even the crimson moon seemed to waver.

"No one is getting away."

Orion's form flickered. When he reappeared beside Iskar, he was holding the other archlord—Perrin—by the throat. "Unwilling to submit? I'm almost impressed."

With the threat neutralized, Orion dragged both vampires back to the center of the camp. The doomsday fire clinging to them was not just a weapon; it was a seal, suppressing their power.

"Vex, soften them up."

Orion tossed Iskar and Perrin down at the base of the Conquest Legion's war banner.

Bloodfiend Vex nodded and unfurled the banner, its shadowy fabric enveloping the two vampires and sealing them within. The war banner was the focal point of the entire Conquest Legion's will; escape was impossible.

"Oohh…" A low groan of guttural pleasure escaped Vex's lips. The doomsday flames from the vampires had transferred to the war banner. Since the fire originated from Orion, it didn't harm the banner but instead began to empower it. As the Standard-bearer, that power flowed directly into Vex. His body was being slowly reforged, his own strength climbing at a startling rate.

"My lord!"

With the enemy routed and their leaders captured, Eparus, Bidalun, and Ashreign approached Orion, ready for their next orders.

"Pack it up," Orion commanded. "We're moving out. We're heading in the direction that blood-mist came from."

Now that the enemy had shown their hand, there was no reason to sit and wait. A citadel, he mused, should have plenty of resources—and slaves—worth taking.

"As you command, My lord!"

***

Silverwood Realm, The Mundo Highlands.

The highlands marked the southern frontier. South of here lay the territory of the old demigod dragon.

Orion and the Moon Elf Isilra stood on a windswept peak, gazing south.

"This is as far as we can push for now," Isilra said, her voice laced with a weary resignation. "That dragon Eminence is… stubborn. Not open to discussion." It was clear she'd tried before.

"I've been wondering," Orion said. "Why wouldn't he ally with Staghelm City? Compared to the Cult of Four, you're his people. This is your world, after all."

It was a strategic anomaly that bothered him. Back when the Cult of Four only had one demigod in the south, a timely intervention from the dragon could have completely changed the course of the war.

"The dragons are not native to this land," Isilra explained. "They simply arrived here a very long time ago. Before that… our peoples were at war. There is a great deal of history between us, and wounds that have never healed."

Orion nodded. That made sense. An ancient blood feud, left to fester for generations.

"So there's a possibility he's already flipped," Orion speculated, always assuming the worst. "He could be on the Cult of Four's side."

"I don't know," Isilra said, shaking her head. "If the dragons had sided with the Cult, their demigod should have joined the last major battle. But he didn't."

"Maybe he's playing the long game," Orion mused. "Watching from the sidelines to see if Staghelm City falls on its own." He paused, another thought striking him. "Or maybe they already cut a deal. The dragons become a vassal state after you're wiped out. Or they simply maintain a non-aggression pact."

That last part seemed plausible, given the power dragons held in any realm. It was likely the old dragon was part of a much larger faction. Maybe the Cult of Four had gone after Staghelm City first precisely because they were wary of provoking the dragons.

"Orion, you may be right," Isilra conceded. After all this time working with him, she now used his name naturally, a sign of their growing, if professional, rapport.

"So," Orion said, turning his gaze. "That just leaves the west and the east." Though it sounded like a statement, it was a question. The Champions Alliance had delegated the task of recruiting the Survivors in those regions to Staghelm City. He was asking for a status report.

In the sky, Iskar's pupils contracted. His attention had just shifted from the dangerous Scourge Wardens to the towering Bloodfiend Vex.

And in that instant, he saw the flicker of movement. He saw the space where the Deathly Soul-Reaper had been, now empty.

A cold, calm voice spoke directly into his mind.

"Death, or servitude. Choose."

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