The air was thick with tension, the kind that crawled beneath the skin and clung to every breath. The black and crimson banners of the Scorpion Empire swayed like ominous serpents against the afternoon sun, their emblems—gleaming skulls and scorpion stingers—catching the light and stabbing it back toward the colosseum walls.
From his towering black stallion, Emperor Cailan Gravis sat like a looming storm, his crimson cloak rippling in the dry desert wind. His scorpion shaped crowd sat majestically in his head. With his spear in hand, his voice, sharp and commanding, rolled across the plain and up the gates like a tide of iron.
"People of the Nazare Blade Empire!" His tone carried the weight of inevitability, reverberating against the stone fortifications. "I am Emperor Cailan Gravis of the Scorpion Empire. I have no intention of spilling your blood or claiming your lands. All I ask is this: deliver me your emperor, and I will turn back. One hour—" he lifted a gauntleted finger, his voice growing colder than steel—"one hour to decide. If your gates remain closed when the hour is done, if you choose to test me, then prepare to watch your skies burn."
A hush fell over the crowded battlements. Soldiers stiffened where they stood, hands tightening on spear shafts slick with nervous sweat. Beyond the colosseum gates, merchants abandoned their stalls and huddled in alleyways, whispering curses under their breath. Mothers drew their children close as though that would shield them from the promise of fire and death that lingered in the emperor's words.
If Kratos were still with him—ah, Kratos!—Cailan Gravis mused grimly, this would already be over. The god of war would have torn these gates from their hinges and painted the earth crimson by now. But Kratos was gone, and with his absence came restraint. Cailan did not want a massacre. Not if he could help it.
Still… the clock had begun ticking.
---
Behind the high gates of Nazare Blade, panic simmered like water on the edge of boiling. The colosseum was a mini fortress carved from whitestone, its towers and edges clawing at the heavens, yet fear gnawed at its defenders all the same. The nobles gathered in the shadow of the hidden pockets of the colosseum restrooms, voices rising in a chaotic chorus of blame and dread.
Where was their emperor?
No one said it aloud, but every soldier thought the same thing: coward.
He had vanished. Slipped through the cracks like a serpent while the storm gathered at their gates. Perhaps he had known all along why the Scorpion Emperor had come. Perhaps the rumors were true—that dark secrets had bled from his hands, secrets that had drawn this doom upon them.
The first to break the suffocating silence was Prince Balek. He strode forward to neet the council of his siblings with the air of a tempest barely leashed, his jaw clenched, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His black hair hung damp across his brow, and his voice was a blade drawn free.
"We will not give up our father to a foreign dog," he declared, his deep voice cutting through the arguments. His gaze swept the across his siblings and the other soldiers present, watching this scene with focused gaze.
He locked his eyes first on his younger brother, Jaden, then on Zemira—the gentle, graceful sister who rarely spoke out of turn. But her face was hard now, her gentle eyes were burning with defiance.
"You would risk millions of lives for a man who abandoned us?" Zemira's voice was quiet but edged with steel, startling both brothers. Gone was the softness they knew; in its place stood a woman carved from the same stone as the walls around them.
Balek's nostrils flared. "He is our blood. Our emperor."
"He is a coward," Zemira shot back, her voice trembling only slightly. "And a butcher. Do not pretend you don't know the truth. His hands are red with the blood of his own people. Do you think this is the first army he's provoked? When the shadow of war loomed, he fled. Left us to die."
Jaden stepped forward then, his voice cool and sharp as winter. "I stand with Zemira. Father's throne was never worth the lives of our people. You think yourself a leader, brother? Then lead with sense, not pride."
Balek's eyes narrowed, dark with fury. "Sense?" He took a step toward Jaden, his boots striking the marble like war drums. "Do you call surrender sense? Do you call treachery wisdom?" His hand slid fully onto his sword hilt now. "If you mean to stand against me, brother, then say it plainly."
Jaden's jaw tightened, his fists curling. "You always wanted his approval, so you did everything a lapdog would do..." Jaden spat back. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening as two storms prepared to collide.
And then—"Enough!" Zemira's voice cracked like a whip as she thrust herself between them, one hand pressed against each chest. "This is not the time for bloodshed between brothers."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Balek's eyes burned like twin coals. Jaden's lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the presence of his siblings, the echo of his boots fading into the distance.
Balek watched him go, his breath ragged with suppressed rage. Zemira exhaled slowly, her voice softer now but heavy with warning. "Do what you think is right, Balek… but know this: if you choose war, you may stand alone."
She slipped away like a shadow, leaving him in the cold embrace of the council chamber.
Balek's hands clenched at his sides. Alone or not, his mind was set. If the Scorpion Emperor wanted a fight, then by the gods, he would have it.
Balek stood tall as he watched the crowd of soldiers stretching long before him like the claws of an unseen beast. His chest heaved, his heart pounding like the war drums that would soon thunder across the plains. For a moment, he simply stared at the faces of the soldiers before him—their eyes wide with fear, their jaws tight with uncertainty. He could almost taste their doubt in the air, sharp and bitter like iron on his tongue.
Then, he roared.
It was not the roar of a man, but the primal sound of a lion dragged from the depths of its fury. The sound cracked against the stone walls and surged outward like a storm breaking over the sea.
"PREPARE FOR WAR!"
The command was not merely spoken—it devoured the silence, leaving nothing but the echo of its wrath. Men flinched as if struck. Armor clattered as they snapped to attention.
Balek's gaze swept the ranks like a blade. His voice rose again, fierce and relentless, carrying the weight of a thousand oaths:
"Darke Dean!" His finger jabbed toward a towering figure armored in black steel, the crimson crest of the royal vanguard blazing on his chest. "You are the shield of our empire, the wall that does not break. I expect nothing less than perfection from you—fail me, and you fail Nazare Blade itself!"
Dean's jaw clenched, his eyes cold as the northern cliffs. He saluted sharply, but deep inside, Balek wondered if even that wall could hold against the storm to come.
"Manual Stunner!" Balek's voice cracked like a whip as he turned to a lean man draped in silver-trimmed battle robes, his face shadowed beneath a deep hood. "You are the emperor's hand—the wisdom of the throne, the mind that strikes where swords cannot. Let your cunning be the blade none see until it is too late!"
Stunner inclined his head with a quiet grace that masked the venom in his smile.
Balek's eyes burned as they locked on the last figure, a man whose very presence drew whispers from the shadows. "Adolph Li…" His tone lowered, heavy with both command and plea. "Royal regent. Blood-bound guardian of His Majesty. You were forged to protect him, even at the edge of death itself. The emperor may have fled—but his shadow remains, and so do we. Defend that shadow with your life."
Adolph stepped forward, his obsidian cloak whispering across the floor like the kiss of midnight. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight as he bowed low, one knee striking stone.
Balek exhaled through clenched teeth and raised his blade high, the steel catching the firelight in a savage gleam. "Now go!" His voice thundered like rolling avalanches. "Man the walls, ready the ballistae! Tonight, Nazare Blade does not bend. We do not yield. We CRUSH the scorpion beneath our heel!"
A roar of forced obedience rose from the soldiers—loud enough to shake the pillars, yet thin beneath the surface, like brittle glass straining not to break.
As they moved to take their positions, the air filled with the clang of steel and the dull thud of boots striking stone. But beneath the orchestrated chaos ran a river of whispers, hushed and venomous.
"He's lost his mind…" one muttered, gripping his bow until his knuckles blanched.
"First prince or not, he'll drown us all in blood," another hissed, his voice trembling as he adjusted his dented breastplate.
A third spat on the ground, his eyes cold with resentment. "Foolishness wearing a crown. When the Scorpion strikes, we'll see who lives to sing of his glory."
And through it all, Balek heard nothing—or perhaps he refused to. His jaw was set, his eyes hard as iron, but inside, the truth clawed at him like a beast in chains: If we fall, it will be by my hand.
Just beyond the walls, the Scorpion banners fluttered like the wings of a thousand vultures. The hourglass had begun to empty.