"YAY! I WOULD LOVE TO SMASH!!!"
Valerius pumped his fist into the air, his voice ringing with a sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm that seemed to shatter the very tension of the battlefield.
Then came the silence.
The cacophony of war—the clashing of steel, the roar of mana, and the screams of the dying—simply evaporated.
It was replaced by a vacuum of sound so profound that the whistling of the wind through the petrified trunks of the Hollows sounded like a localized gale.
Elven warriors froze mid-draw, and Tamaskritian soldiers stood like statues. Their dumbstruck, horrified gazes all converged on the youngest Prince. Dust motes danced in the awkward stagnation of the air as everyone processed the weight of those five words.
Vespera, a nightmare woven from shadows and malice, visibly recoiled. Her dark, swirling aura faltered for a fraction of a second, the obsidian smoke around her feet thinning.
She blinked, her lethal composure cracking before she rearranged her features into a dangerously seductive grin.
The air around her began to grow heavy with the sweet scent of overripe, rotting lilies.
"Aww... looks like someone's getting excited," she purred, her voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to crawl over the skin.
Her eyes darkened to the color of bruised plums as her tongue traced her lower lip with predatory slowness. She raised her hands, her slender fingers tracing obscene, vulgar gestures in the empty air that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Valerius rapidly tilted his helmeted head to the side.
He looked like an innocent child trapped in a suit of divine armor. He blinked rapidly beneath the visor, his innocent violet eyes wide.
"I was bored from running around this whole time from those vile Hollow spawns! I got excited because finally, you said 'smash,' and I get to actually use my powers!"
He punched his palm animatedly, sparks of raw, violet lightning crackling around his gauntlets with an aggressive snap-hiss.
"Are you... for real?" Vespera gasped.
The seductive mask shattered completely, replaced by a face wretched in sheer, baffled disbelief.
Beside Valerius, Ignis suddenly choked on thin air. A violent coughing fit wracked his frame as a plume of misfired smoke escaped the vents of his helmet.
Malakor let out a hollow, soul-weary groan, his armored palm slapping hard against his forehead with a resounding clack of metal on metal.
"Why are you all looking at me so ridiculously? Aurelius, did I say something wrong?" Valerius asked, his voice laced with the kind of earnest worry only a younger brother could project.
Aurelius didn't respond.
The Crown Prince stood as still as a tombstone, his gaze locked dead ahead.
But beneath the regal silhouette of his Dark Mantle helm, he was fighting the most grueling battle of his life. Veins bulged on his neck, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
Don't laugh. No. Do not laugh.
His shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly, his entire sovereign aura vibrating with the strain of suppressing an absolute, chest-shaking roar of laughter.
"Oh boy... this kiddo is too innocent for this bloody world," Vaelin of the Unseen Four sighed, dropping his combat stance and resting a hand on his hip.
"Who's going to tell him?" Thalor added, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh that spoke of centuries of lived experience.
"Tell me what?! And I am not a KIDDO!"
Valerius stomped his boot, a shockwave of thunder rippling through the dirt. He tilted his head up defiantly, his voice rising in a pitch of righteous indignation. "I am sixteen!"
The silence that followed was even deadlier than the first.
Then, the Unseen Four erupted.
Vaelin doubled over, actually wiping a tear from his eye, while Durok's deep, guttural barks of laughter shook the very leaves of the nearby trees.
The Elven elites were howling, their sophisticated aura completely replaced by a chaotic, mocking joy.
"If anyone asks, do not tell them he's my brother," Ignis muttered, physically turning his back to the enemy out of pure, radiating secondhand embarrassment.
Finally, Malakor leaned in, his shadow-draped form pressing close to Valerius's ear. He whispered the true, vulgar meaning of the word Vespera had used, his voice low and clinical.
As the words sank in, the transformation was instantaneous.
Even through the thick, enchanted steel of his helmet, you could practically see Valerius's face turning a violent, radioactive shade of red.
"EWW! HELL NAH! THAT'S DISGUSTING!"
Valerius shrieked, jumping back five feet as if he had been physically contaminated.
He scrubbed at his armor, his innocence finally meeting the harsh, grimy reality of the world.
"Aww, how sweet. A genuine, uncorrupted Prince Charming," Vespera cooed, her voice dropping into a lethal, honeyed register. "I think I'll keep you for myself."
Without warning, the atmosphere curdled.
A tiny dark dagger, constructed from the very essence of the void, emerged from the shadows where her feet met the earth. It lunged like a viper toward Valerius's throat.
Malakor was faster.
He shadow-stepped directly into the path of the projectile, the obsidian blade sinking into his chest plate with a wet thud.
Reality seemed to fold in on itself. A localized black hole erupted where Malakor stood, bending the light and the air inward.
In a heartbeat, both Malakor and Vespera vanished, leaving behind only the scent of ozone and the fading echo of a predatory purr.
"What the hell?! Where did they go?" Valerius yelled, his embarrassment instantly replaced by the jagged edge of panic.
He charged his gauntlets, the smell of burnt air filling his lungs.
"Easy there, kiddo. It seems our leader wanted a new toy to play with," Durok, the massive half-ape, half-elf brute, mocked.
He flexed his mountainous muscles, the leather of his harness creaking under the strain. "But alas, your brother sacrificed himself. How emotional. I am moved to tears."
"Well, I think we should finish these vermin before Miss Vespera returns from her dark dimension with a new toy for her collection," Vaelin said, his eyes narrowing as he charged forward toward Aurelius.
The physics surrounding the Crown Prince shifted violently as Vaelin approached.
Aurelius raised his broadsword, but the air felt like thick, viscous syrup. Kinetic Density the authority of Vaelin was in play. The massive blade, usually an extension of Aurelius's own arm, suddenly felt as heavy as a mountain, its trajectory sagging toward the dirt.
Vaelin didn't even bother to parry; he stepped lightly onto the flat of the sinking sword and launched himself into the air.
He drove a plated knee into Aurelius's chest plate with the force of a falling star.
The sound was deafening—a metallic boom that rattled Aurelius's ribs and sent a shock of white-hot pain through his torso.
The Dark Mantle armor groaned but held, though the force was enough to push the immovable Prince back several feet, his boots carving deep twin trenches into the earth.
"Oh my, oh my," Vaelin mocked, landing with feline grace. "It seems the Crown Prince is finally going to kneel and beg."
Aurelius didn't speak.
He simply righted his posture, his golden eyes boring through his visor with a cold, regal disdain. He gripped his sword with both hands, the metal singing as he lunged back into the fray.
A few yards away, the battlefield became a symphony of extremes.
Ignis's Crimson Blade katana slashed through the air, leaving a trail of superheated plasma that hissed against the falling snow.
Thalor met the strike with Frost Veil, a legendary tachi that looked as though it had been carved from the heart of a glacier.
Where the two blades met, a violent explosion of steam and frost erupted. The air screamed as fire and ice fought for dominance.
"Gotta say, you're impressive, kid," Thalor grunted, his breath pluming white in the freezing air.
"Same goes for you, ancient geezer," Ignis shot back, a feral, adrenaline-fueled grin spreading across his face beneath his helm.
SMACK! Valerius flew through the air, his body a blur of gold and blue before he slammed spine-first into the trunk of a petrified tree.
Splinters rained down like shrapnel as he crumpled to the dirt.
Thud. Thud.
Durok's massive footfalls shook the earth as he approached, his shadow looming over the downed Prince.
He reached down, grabbing Valerius by the horns of his helmet and hoisting him into the air like a trophy.
"Such a delicate prince," the giant grinned, his breath smelling of raw meat. "I will enjoy breaking you until the life finally fades."
While his brothers fought under the open sky, Malakor was drowning.
He was trapped in the Velvet Abyss, a dimension of absolute, suffocating darkness where even his own shadow powers felt sluggish.
He gasped as daggers made of cold, solidified spite bit into his armor from every conceivable angle.
He was blinded, his senses stripped away one by one, leaving him with only the sound of his own frantic heartbeat and her.
"Oh... is my plaything hurt?" Vespera's voice was a physical sensation, a sultry vibration that seemed to come from inside his own head.
"I am not your plaything!" Malakor roared, slashing his daggers blindly into the void.
He felt nothing but empty air, yet another blade pierced his left side, deep enough to make his vision swim.
A hot, moist breath grazed his ear, smelling of dark lotuses and copper.
"You should have let me have your brother," she whispered, her voice a poisonous caress. "You aren't nearly as fun or innocent."
"You bitch!"
Malakor spun, grabbing at the darkness, but his fingers closed on nothing but cold mist.
"Oh my darling, I am not so easy to be caught," she purred from somewhere above.
"Come and get me. Things are getting interesting, and I like it."
He felt a wet tongue trail lightly across the sliver of exposed skin at his neck, sending a violent, visceral shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with fear.
Thank the Gods Vane isn't here, Malakor thought desperately, his mind racing to find an exit before the darkness consumed him entirely.
Miles away, atop the freezing, blood-stained stone of the Great Barrier, the atmosphere was markedly different.
ACHOO!
The sneeze was so violent it seemed to rattle the very foundations of the wall.
"Bless you," Kyanos murmured weakly.
He was slumped against the battlements, his signature ice armor completely melted and ruined from the methanol flares, leaving him looking more like a drowned rat than a Prince.
Darius didn't even look up.
He was busy working with clinical focus, tightly wrapping coarse, yellowed bandages around the cauterized stump where Vane's hand used to be. The smell of burnt flesh and cheap medicinal herbs was thick in the air.
ACHOO!
Another sneeze ripped through Vane, nearly knocking him off his seat.
He sniffled, using the back of his remaining hand to wipe his nose. He paused, staring out at the moon for a long moment.
Slowly, a proud, hopelessly delusional smile began to plaster itself across his pale face.
"Do you guys think..." Vane started, his voice hushed with a sudden, fluttery hope, "that I have a secret admirer who is remembering me right now? You know, the old legend? Sneezing when someone's thinking of you?"
"Nah," Darius said casually, pulling the bandage so tight Vane winced. "Not at all. Stop daydreaming in the middle of a war zone."
"Yes, who even knows that you exist?" Kyanos added, his voice raspy but dripping with sibling malice.
"I don't think any woman in this world would have such a catastrophically bad time as to spend it remembering you."
Vane's smile evaporated, replaced by a look of profound betrayal.
"You guys are so mean!"
He let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping in absolute defeat as he stared at the bandaged stump of his arm.
"At this point... it really feels like I am going to die a virgin."