The border between Forgemire and Osoroshi was a jagged scar across the earth. On the Forgemire side, the land was bolstered by high-tensile steel ramparts and glowing geothermal heat. Across the "No-Man's Land" of the border, the terrain of Osoroshi dissolved into a sickly, grey mire—a landscape of petrified trees and low-hanging violet fog that tasted of copper and stagnant mana.
Kael did not march with the traditional pomp of a king. He moved at the head of the Seventh Vanguard, a lean, lethal formation of three thousand heavy infantry and five hundred "Cinder-Walkers"—specialized mages who could manipulate the very heat of their own blood.
Beside him, Mikaela rode a steed of conjured ice, her presence acting as a stabilizing anchor for the soldiers. Where Kael's heat threatened to overwhelm his own troops, Mikaela's frost provided the necessary temper, creating a micro-climate of perfect, breathable air amidst the sulfur.
As they reached the Osoroshi Threshold, a series of ancient, bone-white towers groaned into life. These were not the modern defenses of the A.N.Ts; they were "Soul-Spires," relic weaponry fueled by the sacrificial mana-pools Osoroshi was infamous for.
"They aren't going to let us negotiate," Mikaela said, her hand tightening on the hilt of her blade. Her deep blue eyes scanned the violet fog, seeing the silhouettes of Osoroshi "Grave-Guards"—warriors whose nervous systems had been deadened by alchemical tonics.
Kael stepped forward, his boots sinking into the grey mud. He raised his hand, the iron signet ring pulsing with a rhythmic, golden light. "I didn't come to talk to towers."
The Soul-Spires hissed, discharging bolts of sickly green energy that screamed through the air. Kael didn't call for shields. He lunged.
He entered the Emperor State instantly. A shockwave of golden pressure erupted from his body, vaporizing the incoming projectiles mid-air. He reached the first tower in a blur of motion, his fist—encased in a glove of white-hot mana—punching through the reinforced bone-masonry. The tower didn't just crumble; it exploded from the internal thermal expansion.
"Vanguard! Advance!" Mikaela's voice rang out like a bell.
She swept her arm in a wide arc, and the mire of the border froze solid, providing a stable, crystal-path for the Forgemire infantry to charge. The Grave-Guards of Osoroshi emerged from the fog like ghosts, their movements jerky and unnatural. They fought with serrated khopeshes dipped in necrotic rot, seeking any gap in the Forgemire plate.
Mikaela met the first wave. She was a vision of lethal grace, her ice-elementals manifesting as jagged shards that danced around her. She didn't just cut; she flash-froze the limbs of her enemies, the extreme cold shattering their alchemically-hardened bone upon impact.
The skirmish was a brutal display of the synergy Kael and Mikaela had developed over five years. When a group of Osoroshi shadow-mages attempted to shroud the Vanguard in a curse of blindness, Kael erupted into a Saint State flare, the brilliance of his fire burning away the magical darkness.
As the mages recoiled, blinded by his light, Mikaela followed through with a "Frost-Bloom" incantation. A pillar of ice erupted beneath the mages, pinning them to the wreckage of their own towers.
Kael stood at the center of the breach, his chest heaving, his skin glowing with the embers of his power. He caught a Grave-Guard by the throat, the man's armor melting instantly under Kael's touch.
"Tell your masters," Kael growled, his voice vibrating with the power of the Emperor. "The era of the rogue nations is over. Osoroshi is being reclaimed."
He threw the soldier back into the fog.
The remaining Osoroshi forces, seeing their "indestructible" spires reduced to slag and ice, began a frantic retreat into the deeper valleys of their kingdom.
The Vanguard halted at the inner gate, the first line of Osoroshi's defenses successfully dismantled. Mikaela walked up to Kael, her silver braid slightly frayed, a small cut on her cheek bleeding a vibrant red.
Kael reached out, his thumb catching the drop of blood. The heat of his touch immediately cauterized the wound, a brief, silent moment of intimacy amidst the smell of ozone and death.
"We've crossed the line, Kael," she whispered, looking back toward the Forgemire border. "There's no going back to 'strategic patience' now."
"I never liked being patient," Kael replied, turning his gaze toward the dark heart of Osoroshi. "Let's find where they're hiding the rest of the poison."