<h2 style="text-align: center">Part Six: The Dark Lord’s Grasp</h2>


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    <h2>CHAPTER 80 – FIELDS</h2>


    Even after the fall of Caliber and the scourging of the Serengeti, other kingdoms would not know about the destruction of the Pride for days to come. The Inner Realm and the Republic at Crucifire Plains would never be able to respond in time, even if the issue went to a vote. No kingdom would muster a rescue force quick enough. There would be no help. But Axion’s hope lived on. This battle was likely to last, at the most, a full day. That gave Mercinestor and Cipher more than enough time to muster the Pride.


    Queen Adyána brought life back into her kingdom as she along with Commander Cel’a and the royal guard escorted what was left of the Lion Kingdom nation inside the Citadel. Thankfully, the Citadel itself was enormous, both above and below the ground. Its maximum occupancy fitted for this very reason.


    Zepathorum was the heart of the Pride. This was the only place where their fate could be decided. Outside of the Citadel, in the circle, Axion and Anilithyìstad were setting up a Headquarters. Impromptu fences and barricades were being put all around, and guards were covering every road in and out. Outside of the circle was the inner city of Zepathorum, different clusters of city districts and residential neighborhoods. The inner city split into five separate parts.


    The west side was a district of city high life. The east side was an emerging residential area. The most northern part of the city was known as the Gatehouse. The Gatehouse was exactly what it sounded like. The north wall of the gate was the longest and most vulnerable part of the Zepathorum border. That is why, the great creators of the city welded the north gate with a massive factory and armory, all of which covered by barracks. In between the north and west sides was the last part of the city.


    In the northwestern corner, was the downtown area, closest to the only gates through the city wall. The doors on the dark crimson gate were enormous and flat. The main gates were four stone doors separated by small guard-towers. Two pairs of wide stone doors, outlined in gold, connected three stout guard-towers in a perfect right angle. The massive amber sledge stone doors can only be opened outward and are controlled by chains and pulleys leading into the guard towers.


    A couple of long stretches of grass flats and tall stone buildings scattered the entrance on the inside commonly called “downtown”. Continuing east on the northern gate past the guard tower came the Gatehouse. Besides that, the rest of the city’s gate led, on both sides, around to Lake Niobi.


    Prince Axion, Commander Cel’a, Anilithyìstad, and Mortikahn joined Jericho and Paxikahn on the top floor of the Gatehouse. The masses outside were now completely gathered and ranked entirely in front of the north wall of the city, before the Gatehouse. There was no dark cloud above them. They were marching in light of their shadow power. In any other instance this might be considered a desperate move, but no. They must have the numbers for it to make no difference.


    Anilithyìstad knew for certain, if the sun caught a hole in the clouds it would torch any unsuspecting darksider with its rays. He almost prayed for the fortunate of seeing it now. He knew all too well, the magic of the old days were over. He could only hope for a miracle, a miracle they sent off into exile. Their best shot at surviving this, but no…there was another. Axion was worthy of the crown and the kingdom’s salvation. Only time would tell.


    The enemy host of infantrymen were now a mere hundred yards from the gates. In that space, what looked like a lone shorelander cavalrymen rode up to the middle of the field, except the stride was off. The strange rider was holding a staff atop his horse. The horseman waved his wooden staff at the sky.


    Axion mumbled something. Anilithyìstad got closer as the prince repeated himself.


    “I know that horse.”


    The hooded horseman was riding a blond horse. By its previous stride in, they could tell it was a female. This was Huntross’ mother from Ashtown, but that did not look like Echo.


    “I think that’s my brother’s cloak…” said Mortikahn, almost at a loss for words.


    This was truly bizarre. The horseman had no clear bearing or sway on the situation at hand. The staff waving didn’t appear to be doing anything. Finally, the horseman put the staff back down by his side and kicked the horse he stormed off back towards the road.


    As the gap between the darksider host of infantry and the gates of Zepathorum closed, the clouds above parted and scattered, burning off in the sunlight above. The fields before the gates of Zepathorum always drank the sunlight. Every single darksider caught in a part of the field exposed to the raw sun burned alive. Smoke hissed off their flesh and they retreated for the shade. Like a zipper in the sky, removing the clouds from the sun, it ran across the field toward the horseman.


    Admiral Zorrowfold screamed for retreat. He sent runners to Warlord Cassius to focus his catapults on the horseman. He feared it might be too late and the damage was done. Hundreds upon hundreds of darksiders caught in the sweeping sunlight burned to ash and bone. Those that escaped looked even more inhuman with the fresh blisters and burns. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The retreat will be of no effect. The open sky would annihilate thousands of foot soldiers. Who was that man? Admiral Zorrowfold was furious. A portal opened in front of the horseman. It was angled in such a way that the horse ran through it but the hooded rider did not. He fell to the ground. Before he hit the ground a spear came flying through the other side of the portal into the back of the horseman. Malinor phased through the portal along with the spear and it closed behind him. The void-tipped spear killed the horseman. Malinor kicked the dead body off his spear.


    Malinor used a quick dark magic incantation. He bound his spell to the spear and launched it into the air. Two distinct noises sounded off in the city, while he was doing this. There were the screams of horror by those who just happened to be looking south. The second noise was a faint whistle, that once you heard it, there was no not hearing it. It sounded far off, practically in one’s own head. It was in fact the whistle of the brood. From this far away it looked like a dark cloud.


    It was not until it got closer that everyone could see the horrifying truth. Thousands of dragons were flying in from the south. Axion’s face dropped in utter disbelief, along with everyone else’s, except Commander Adora. This was truly becoming a nightmare in reality. The commander kept an earnest look on her face, like she knew something no one else did. Axion worried about that, but he trusted her and had to keep his focus on the clear and present danger, the incoming brood of dragons.


    They did not attack Zepathorum, no, not at first. The dragons stayed in the sky and flew so close to the sun they began to blot it out; all except a small contingent of mass dragons, large, earthen-like fire-breathing dragons with shell armor like that of turtles. They first flew near Malinor, and he boarded one. The dragons then landed near Admiral Zorrowfold. The Emissary dismounted the lead mass dragon to greet the Admiral.


    “Have no fear, Admiral Zorrowfold, we will eclipse the sun in minutes and cover up your ambitious mistake. I applaud you though. How were you to suspect there would be warlocks afoot?”


    “Warlocks are insidious and will crop up whenever we don’t expect them, but this one is no threat to us any longer.” Malinor said, clanking his fists together, continuing the incantation.


    The strike of lightning reversed itself in a line from Malinor’s fists to the spear, still soaring ever further up through the sky. The dragons reached the part of the sky between the sun and the fields of Zepathorum. The inversed lightning bolt carved its way through the dragons, catching the ones closest and frying them for fuel.


    “Seems like a waste,” said Warlord Cassius, now next to Admiral Zorrowfold.


    “This sacrifice is a mere scratch of the surface of the brood in the South.”


    The exploding dragons wove their gaseous remains into dark shrouds. Malinor waved his arms from the floor. The mists swirled into dark clouds. He pushed. The dark clouds pushed together into thick formation in front of the sun. And just like that the light of day was snuffed out in Zepathorum. It was no longer overcast in the North. The skies looked horrible. The storm was now upon them unlike ever before. The drops of black rain returned, plastering the walls of Zepathorum.


    The Dark Lord and the Emissary joined Admiral Zorrowfold, Warlord Cassius, and the mad genius Spangalore before their massive host. They had the combined might of force not seen in MagnaThora for hundreds of years. This was the beginning of the end of the Pride.


    Separate regiments of cavalry positioned all around the infantry, who were protecting the boarding ramp towers being wheeled in by giant Behemoths. The Behemoths were warbeasts, with thick cartilage shell wrapped around their shoulders and waist. The monsters wore heavy stone plated armor, becoming virtually unstoppable. Such things were true creations from the underworld.


    From within Port Caliber, the wretched egg-born monsters finished feasting on their victims. They digested the meat of man and metastasized from its raw energy. They came into maturity and flew out of the city with crooked dark wings of bruised black feathers, hell-bent on Zepathorum. They soared low and then joined the remaining dragons in the dark sky above the enemy command-post.


    Their mission was to annihilate the Pride. They were successful with Port Caliber and had slowly covered the entire Serengeti. The only piece of the puzzle left was Zepathorum, their crowning achievement. First the Dark Lord would send his countless pawns. They would slowly wear down the city defenses with boarding ramps, ladders, and battering rams. When the walls were broken, he would send all legions in, along with the monsters. He would concentrate all his forces on the northern wall, all regiments of dark creatures except for one.


    The Emissary would take a squadron of acolytes and berserkers on a flanking mission. They would wait until focus was on the northern wall and attempt to sneak in unnoticed. Spangalore presented the Emissary with the newest member of the acolytes: a once young boy and citizen of the Lion Kingdom. Infected with the darkness, the boy’s pure heart churning pure power in the transformation. He grew to adult size, stretched out by tumors and spasms. He was a horrific part of the darksiders, a fearsome truth of the power of evil.


    His name was Denison. And in one day he turned from a horrified young boy into a horrific warrior of darkness. In his conversion, his soul was replaced with hatred and hunger. These two primitive notions alone controlled the fleet of dead minds invading the north. Denison, along with a select few other newly converted knowledge, were brought up to the frontlines for their knowledge of the nation’s cities.


    Their strategy combined of formations, simultaneous battle moves, surprise attacks, and last second adjustments were all put into motion. In no time, this city would be theirs to hold. And if all else failed, Malinor would break the Arkenoir House himself, but even though the Dark Lord was more powerful than all of them put together, he waited. He reserved his power for his grand designs that no one else would be privy to until it was too late.