The day Red Mountain turned black, the sky itself seemed to burn. Clouds parted above its peak, and at the gates of the high royal capital's portal stood Lieutenant Maxilian. Newly promoted, scarcely a name in the king's guard, yet here he was — the last barrier between the kingdom and annihilation.
Before him waited for the Hellhounds. Their captain, Morilius, towered with an axe broad enough to cleave stone. Behind him, five lieutenants bristled with spears, curved blades, and cruel grins. The Hellhounds had not chosen their name; it had been given by the kingdoms they burned.
Maxilian's necklace — a gem linked to the royal COMS hall — buzzed with voices of command and panic.
"Fall back!" a voice barked.
"You can't hold them!" cried another.
Even the seasoned captains begged him to retreat.
For minutes he was silent. Only the mountain wind answered.
Then a familiar voice sliced through the air. Valerie. Once his teacher, now branded traitor. Her tone was cool, almost tender.
"Dear Maxi," she said. "I'll give you this last chance. Run."
Maxilian's jaw clenched. He pressed his palm to the gem and spoke with the calm of a man already carved into legend.
"King's guard," he said. "At ease. They shall not pass me, nor this gate."
The COMS hall fell silent. Even Valerie smirked, unsure whether to mock or to fear.
Morilius bellowed with laughter.
"Boy, don't jest with me. Valerie, I'll give him a quick death — after we break him."
The Hellhounds sneered.
Maxilian's eyes darkened, black swallowing his irises. His lips moved in a whisper none could hear. When his voice returned, it was a vow that cut the air in two.
"Oh, Angel of Death, lend me your scythe once more. I will reap these damned souls in your name."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Lorian the Black, one of Morilius' lieutenants, sneered. "Your spell fails, pup. You—"
He never finished.
Maxilian blurred forward — half a foot, then a blade through Lorian's throat, piercing the skull in one motion. The body turned to ash before it hit the ground.
Panic flickered too late across the Hellhounds' eyes. In a blink, Maxilian moved again, his blade tasting each lieutenant in turn. Ash scattered into the winds of the peak. Morilius himself staggered back, raising his axe — and then he too was reduced to cinders, a giant undone in silence.
The wind carried their remains across the mountain.
Above, the council and king's guard watched through the portal's scrying mirrors. Hardened warriors, generals, even the king's table itself — all sat in awe. None had expected a lone lieutenant to erase one of the deadliest squads on the continent.
But Maxilian was not alone.
A woman stood beside him — cloaked in black, her form traced only by the curve of her frame. Black smoke curled from her hands. Death had answered.
Maxilian bowed his head.
"Oh Death, thank thee for lending me thy strength and blade. Once more, I am in your debt."
Her voice was soft, cold, and ageless.
"Young one, you have reaped for me new souls. We are even."
The blade in Maxilian's hand dissolved into smoke and flowed into her palm. With a gentle smile, she turned and vanished like she had never been there.
Maxilian lingered for a moment, his gaze softening where she had stood.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Seeing you means more to me than they'll ever know."
Then he squared his shoulders, chest broad, and walked slowly through the portal — past the backup squad that had finally arrived, past warriors too stunned to breathe.
On the other side, he emerged into the council chamber. Blades, arrows, and spears immediately leveled at him.
"Hold," said Prince Kael, rising from his chair and clapping slowly. "Well, well. He appears still on our side. Lower your weapons."
The soldiers obeyed reluctantly. Kael's eyes glittered with amusement as he studied Maxilian.
"Lieutenant Maxilian, I should thank you. That portal is the lifeline from the south. But tell me — how did you summon Death herself, and speak to her as if she were an old friend?"
Maxilian let his blade fall to the marble floor. His eyes returned to their natural color, though his voice was hard.
"My prince, the answer is simple. You do not need great magic to summon Death. You only need a soul strong enough, and a purpose that cannot be broken. Mine was revenge. Valerie was my teacher. And Morilius… he burned my parents, my town, and my brother."
A hush rippled through the hall.
Kael smirked. "A long answer to a question I did not ask. But perhaps… useful." He turned to the throne. "Father. I want him for the project."
King Harrow rose. The entire chamber knelt. His voice carried like a hammer.
"Maxilian. For your service, I promote you from lieutenant to captain. From this day, you will serve in the Black Blades — a new squad charged with eliminating the kingdom's greatest enemies. You will be given everything you require. In return, you will deliver perfection."
Maxilian knelt, sword across his palms, and raised it to the king.
"My blade is yours. My life is yours. My purpose is yours."
And so, on the day chaos spread across the continent — when two kingdoms pressed their assault against Harrow's cities for reasons yet unknown — Maxilian was no longer a mere lieutenant.
He was the captain of the Black Blades.
The man who summoned Death.