The last pockets of resistance collapsed quickly.
Without the Queen.
Without the King.
Without the corrupted generals directing them.
The remaining Imperial officers found themselves leaderless, exhausted, and surrounded.
Many tried to flee.
They did not get far.
Gryph dove from the sky like divine judgment, his talons shredding cavalry attempting to escape.
Fang erupted from the earth, coiling around entire groups and crushing them before slithering toward the next cluster of panicked soldiers.
Rootzilla thundered across the battlefield, impaling those who threw down their weapons too late to matter.
Jax had made the rules crystal clear.
Those who attacked would die.
There would be no surrender for the forces that had marched to exterminate Solmere.
And his shadows carried out those orders without hesitation.
For many Imperial soldiers, the Queen's death went unnoticed.
Those in the rear had no idea what had happened.
They only saw a blur moving through the command ranks.
Then they heard the unmistakable thunder of Requiem.
Then hundreds of bodies began to fall.
Panic spread like wildfire.
By the time word trickled forward that the King and Queen were dead, the battle was already lost.
The United Kingdoms pressed their advantage.
The Vixens carved through the remaining enemy lines like legends made flesh.
Bunny crashed from soldier to soldier, her massive hammer reducing armored knights to twisted wreckage.
Llandra's arrows cut through fleeing officers with flawless precision.
Nyxian's twin whips danced through the chaos like living serpents, slicing and poisoning all they touched.
Pixelle darted overhead, shrieking encouragement and insults in equal measure.
Flower released restorative spores over exhausted allies while subtly calming those on the brink of collapse.
Zee stood at the center of it all, barriers shimmering around wounded troops while healing magic poured from Sanctaris in radiant waves.
Brannic and Merriweather fought back to back, proving once again that age and trade titles did little to diminish true warriors.
The Crimson Vanguard smashed through enemy formations with ruthless efficiency.
Grathok, usually more comfortable in fine suits than battle armor, carved through foes with twin blades and a grin that bordered on unsettling.
And looming above them all were Jax's shadow beasts, relentless and merciless.
Within the hour, organized resistance ceased.
The Third Great War was over.
The casualty reports astonished everyone.
Against an invasion force of nearly two hundred fifty thousand soldiers, the United Kingdoms had suffered fewer than one thousand confirmed dead.
And even that number was expected to fall as Zee, Flower, and dozens of allied healers worked tirelessly to stabilize the wounded.
It was, by every conceivable measure, an impossible victory.
The Empire's losses were catastrophic.
Their King was dead.
Their Queen was obliterated.
Their senior generals had been wiped out.
Their political leadership was decapitated in a single afternoon.
The Empire itself still existed.
But the power that had held it together had been shattered forever.
Jax stood in the middle of the ruined battlefield, surveying the aftermath.
Smoke drifted through the air.
The scent of blood and burned magic lingered.
In the distance, Solmere glistened under the afternoon sun.
Even from here, he could make out Darquebane Manor.
The pool.
The hot springs.
Home.
He considered returning immediately to gather the war council.
But something caught his eye.
Off in the distance sat a large dimensional caravan.
Elegant.
Masterfully crafted.
Jax recognized the workmanship instantly.
Barb.
He chuckled to himself.
If he had known the King and Queen were traveling in one of Barb's creations, he might have asked her to install a little surprise.
A trapdoor.
A magical restraint.
An eject button.
Something amusing.
"Oh well," he muttered.
Spoils of war.
He turned toward the Vixens.
They stood together in the sunlight.
Blood-soaked.
Sweaty.
Exhausted.
Victorious.
To most people, they looked terrifying.
To Jax, they looked unbelievably beautiful.
He gave them a crooked smile.
"Head back to Solmere."
The women perked up.
"Prepare the council for surrender negotiations."
Bunny blinked.
Confusion spread across her face.
"But we won. Why are we surrendering?"
Nyxian pinched Bunny's backside.
The bunny girl yelped and hopped a foot into the air.
"We aren't surrendering, fluff-brain," Nyxian said with a smirk.
She gestured toward the battlefield.
"The Empire is."
The realization hit everyone at once.
The Empire was finished.
They still had soldiers.
They still had cities.
But they had no leadership.
No momentum.
No appetite for more slaughter.
The war was over.
Now came the politics.
And Jax intended to strike while the iron was hot.
Jax leapt high into the air.
Dante swooped down beneath him.
With practiced ease, Jax landed on the great Flame Dragon's neck.
As he did, his shadows dissolved and returned to his body.
The Vixens began organizing the return to Solmere.
Grim and Steed were hitched to the caravan.
Allies loaded wounded soldiers and supplies.
Nyxian, of course, had already found the royal wine stores.
Holding up a bottle older than the Empire itself, she grinned.
"We're opening this tonight."
The Vixens laughed.
The retreating Imperial army had not traveled far.
With nearly two hundred thousand soldiers marching in disarray, they stretched for miles across the road.
Dante descended directly in front of them.
The dragon's massive form blocked the path.
Thousands of soldiers froze.
Weapons were drawn.
But no one advanced.
Jax slid from Dante's back and walked toward the front ranks.
He moved as casually as if arriving for a business meeting.
Which, in his mind, was exactly what this was.
"Who is in command?" he asked.
The soldiers exchanged nervous looks.
That was the problem.
No one knew.
Most of their officers were dead.
Those who survived were scattered.
After a moment, several soldiers pointed farther back.
Word spread rapidly.
Jax Darquebane was here.
He was alive.
And he had arrived riding a dragon.
Mathis Rhymekey stepped forward.
The disciplined sergeant stood straight despite the weight of the moment.
"I suppose I'm as qualified as anyone," he said.
He extended his hand.
"Mathis Rhymekey."
Jax shook it firmly.
"Jax Darquebane."
Mathis gave a weary smile.
"As if I needed the introduction."
Jax nodded.
"We need to discuss the terms of your surrender."
Mathis let out a slow breath.
"We don't want more war."
"Neither do I," Jax said. "And you can't afford one."
Mathis glanced over his shoulder at the exhausted soldiers.
Then back at Jax.
"I agree with you. But I don't have the authority to decide for the Empire."
Jax studied him.
The man's uniform was immaculate despite the battle.
His bearing was calm.
And though officers with greater rank stood nearby, none of them stepped forward.
They were all looking to him.
Jax placed a hand on Mathis's shoulder.
"I think you have more authority than you realize."
Mathis swallowed.
Jax continued.
"I expect an audience with you and Alexandria's leadership in four weeks."
He turned and raised his voice so the surrounding army could hear.
"This man is in command of your army."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks.
Jax's amplified voice carried even farther.
"I expect him to represent the Empire when we negotiate terms of peace."
The words hung in the air.
Terms of peace.
Not annihilation.
Not occupation.
Peace.
Then Jax added the part that stunned them most.
"In exchange, the United Kingdoms will grant your army safe passage through our portals."
A collective gasp swept through the soldiers.
Jax continued.
"We will provide healing magic, medicine, food, and temporary shelter for your wounded during the journey home."
Mathis stared.
"You would do that for us?"
Jax shrugged.
"I'm trying to build a better world, not a graveyard."
Mathis looked around at the thousands of tired faces surrounding him.
Men and women who had expected death.
Who had instead been offered mercy.
One by one, they nodded.
Mathis turned back to Jax.
"I cannot speak for the entire Empire."
He extended his arm.
"But I can speak for this army."
He clasped Jax's forearm.
"We accept."
Jax returned the warrior's grip.
"I'll make the arrangements."
He turned and walked back to Dante.
The dragon lowered his neck.
Jax mounted in one smooth motion.
Then, with a single powerful beat of his wings, Dante rose into the sky.
The soldiers watched him disappear toward Solmere.
For a long time, no one spoke.
Finally, one exhausted infantryman said what tens of thousands were thinking.
"How in the world did the Empire ever think they could defeat that man?"