Chapter 4.5: The Siege of Magnolia
That night, the air above Magnolia Castle crackled with an ominous, suffocating energy. The demon army, a vast, shadowy tide of grotesque forms and gleaming eyes, had completely surrounded the ancient stone walls, their presence a crushing weight that stole the breath from the city. From the very heart of their amassed forces, a voice boomed, resonating with dark, primordial power, echoing off the castle's battlements like a peal of thunder.
"This is your last opportunity to surrender!" Zorde's voice, deep and resonant, carried across the besieged city, each syllable a hammer blow. His vast, leathery wings, the color of dried blood, spread against the bruised, starless sky, an terrifying silhouette that blotted out the moon. "If you resist, I will kill you with my own hands, without mercy."
Within the castle's crumbling defenses, King Sayan stood on the main rampart, his regal figure illuminated by the flickering, desperate torchlight. He wore his finest royal battle robes, now streaked with dust and grime, but his golden crown still gleamed, a defiant beacon atop his head. His face, though etched with profound sorrow, was resolute, his jaw set. "We shall not surrender!" he roared, his voice hoarse but unwavering, carrying over the growing din of the approaching demons and the terrified whimpers of his people. "We shall fight to our last breath! If you want Vasmos, you must first take down its king!" A cheer, thin but determined, rose from the loyal, exhausted soldiers and remaining citizens huddled behind him, a fragile echo of hope against the encroaching despair.
But betrayal, cold and insidious, had already festered within the castle walls. Ming, the Chief of Army, watched from a shadowed alcove near the gate controls, a subtle, cruel smile playing on his lips, hidden from the king. He was clad in his polished, dark steel uniform, the insignia of Vasmos's army still gleaming on his chest, a stark contrast to the darkness in his heart. His ambition burned brighter than any flicker of loyalty, a searing flame fed by a secret deal with Zorde that promised him power beyond imagination. While the king rallied his doomed people, Ming, with a quiet, almost reverent touch, destroyed the holy barrier magic sphere – the very heart of Vasmos's ancient protection, a crystalline orb that shattered with a muffled chime. With a single, insidious act, he tore open the kingdom's ethereal shield, leaving it utterly vulnerable. His earlier orchestration, sending loyal generals to distant, undefended states – a strategy carefully whispered into his ear by Zorde himself – had already crippled the kingdom's defenses, ensuring its swift collapse.
As if on cue, the colossal main gates of the castle groaned, then swung inward with a deafening screech of tortured metal, revealing the waiting demon horde. Ming's treachery was complete. The ministers who had foolishly sided with him, believing they would be spared, were swiftly betrayed, seized by hulking demons and dragged away, their cries abruptly silenced. Soldiers who dared to resist were cut down without a second thought, their desperate shouts swallowed by the night. Only Generals Roku and Kenzo, who had been privy to Ming's dark pact, remained safe, their faces grim but untouched, standing silently by Ming's side.
The next morning, a chilling, unnatural silence had fallen over Magnolia. The usual morning bustle of vendors and citizens was replaced by a heavy, terrified stillness. The people of Magnolia were herded into the vast plaza near the castle, their faces pale with fear, their eyes wide with unshed tears. Fear was a palpable scent in the air, a metallic tang that mixed with the lingering odor of smoke and ash from the previous night's devastation. Rows of hulking, grotesque demons, their skin mottled and their eyes glowing ominously, stood guard, their massive weapons resting on the cobblestones, their presence radiating cold satisfaction.
Then, the great castle doors creaked open once more, a sound that grated on the nerves of the assembled populace. From the shadowed archway, Demon Lord Zorde emerged, his towering form cloaked in rich, black robes that seemed to absorb the light, his blood-red wings now folded tightly behind him like a menacing shroud. He moved with an unnerving, almost regal grace, his presence radiating an oppressive, ancient power that made the very air feel heavy and difficult to breathe. Beside him, Rafael, clad in spiky, dark armor that seemed to be forged from shadow, strode with predatory confidence, a cruel, knowing smirk playing on his lips. And then, to the collective horror of the assembled populace, Ming appeared, his Chief of Army uniform pristine, his face impassive, his bearing that of a cold victor, not a traitor. They ascended to the castle's main balcony, looking down upon the terrified, silent crowd.
Zorde raised a hand, and the plaza fell into an absolute, suffocating silence. His voice, though no longer booming, carried with chilling clarity, each word a pronouncement of doom. "It is a great accomplishment for us!" he declared, his gaze sweeping over the conquered city, a possessive glint in his crimson eyes. "The demons of Astinkein have successfully conquered Vasmos!"
A roar of savage cheers erupted from the assembled demons, a cacophony of guttural shouts and triumphant howls that sent shivers down the spines of the human populace. The sound was deafening, a celebration of their subjugation.
Zorde continued, his voice dripping with false magnanimity, a cruel parody of a benevolent ruler. "Now, we are in a peace treaty with Vasmos. From this day forward, Mr. Ming will be the King of Vasmos, alongside Rafael as the Deputy King. Vasmos will co-exist with Humans, Demons, and all other races from now onwards."
A collective gasp rippled through the people of Magnolia, quickly followed by a stunned, horrified silence. Ming, their Chief of Army, was now their king, a puppet of the demons, a symbol of their complete subjugation. The demons, however, cheered even louder, their roars shaking the very foundations of the plaza, their monstrous faces split in wide, victorious grins.
"Now," Zorde announced, his voice hardening, losing its pretense of peace, "we execute everyone who opposed us and denied to surrender." His eyes, like chips of obsidian, fixed on a point in the crowd. He gestured with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Nordus! Bring forth the captives!"
From a side gate, Nordus, a hulking demon with a scarred face, flanked by two other equally menacing demons, Zenis and Kurdish, emerged, dragging a group of bound figures. Their hands were tied with thick, rough ropes, and their faces were covered by crude, dark masks. They were pushed roughly to their knees before the terrified crowd, the thud of their bodies on the stone echoing in the silence.
With a theatrical flourish, Zenis and Kurdish ripped away the masks. A collective gasp of horror and despair, like a single, broken sob, rose from the people. There, kneeling before them, their faces bruised but their eyes still holding a flicker of defiance, were King Sayan, his royal robes torn and dirtied, the Lieutenant, his military uniform ripped, and several other ministers, their faces pale with terror, their eyes wide with unshed tears.
Demon Lord Zorde drew his sword, a long, black blade that seemed to drink the light, its edge glinting with a hungry malevolence. The ministers, seeing their king and the terrifying blade, began to wail, tears streaming down their faces as they frantically begged for their lives, pleading with Ming, then with Zorde, their voices cracking with desperation. Ming, from the balcony, watched with a face like a stone mask, his eyes devoid of pity. Zorde, with a swift, practiced motion, brought his sword down, cleaving through the ministers' necks in a single, brutal strike. Their heads rolled, thudding softly on the cold, stone ground, a sickening sound swallowed by the horrified silence.
A collective scream of terror erupted from the people of Magnolia. Many turned away, burying their faces in their hands, their bodies trembling uncontrollably, while others stood frozen, their eyes wide with unspeakable horror, unable to tear their gaze from the gruesome display. Rafael, from the balcony, allowed himself a wide, predatory smile, his fangs glinting, basking in the raw, unadulterated fear he saw in the crowd.
Now, Zorde turned his attention to King Sayan.
King Sayan and the Lieutenant stood unbowed, their eyes fixed on Zorde, pride etched onto their faces, a final, defiant challenge in their gaze. Yet, a flicker of fear, a deep, cold dread for Vasmos's future, was visible in their depths, a silent agony for the kingdom they were leaving behind.
Zorde approached the Lieutenant, his black boots clicking softly on the stone. "Lieutenant," he began, his voice surprisingly calm, almost conversational, "I have heard much praise about your work as a strategist for Vasmos. So, I have an offer for you. Will you work for me?" He extended a gloved hand towards the Lieutenant, a gesture of false magnanimity, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
The Lieutenant's eyes blazed with furious defiance. He gathered what little strength he had left, his face contorting, and spat directly at Zorde's polished boot. "I better d—"
Before the word could fully leave his lips, Zorde's black blade flashed, a streak of pure darkness. The Lieutenant's head fell, his body collapsing in a silent heap, a dark stain spreading on the stone.
King Sayan's eyes widened, a raw, primal pain flashing through them as he witnessed the Lieutenant's death. He turned his gaze to his people, his voice, though weak and raspy, carrying a final, desperate plea for hope, a last spark of his kingly duty. "My people—"
But Zorde would allow no final words of courage, no last spark of defiance. With a contemptuous swing of his black sword, he brought it down, a swift, decisive arc.
The head of King Sayan rolled, coming to rest beside the Lieutenant's, his crown clattering on the stone.
A wave of uncontrollable sobbing swept through the plaza. People wept openly, their cries of anguish and terror echoing through the silent, demon-held city. The air filled with the bitter scent of despair. The demons, for their part, let out a thunderous cheer, a triumphant roar that shook the very foundations of the castle, their monstrous faces split in wide, victorious grins. Yet, Ronin's memory of the scene, a chilling detail he would carry forever, would recall that some of the demons, even among Zorde's own ranks, remained silent, their expressions unreadable, their cheers absent, a subtle hint of a deeper, more complex darkness.
Zorde struck his sword down onto the stone ground of the balcony, the impact reverberating like a death knell through the plaza. He raised his voice, loud and clear, echoing across the conquered kingdom, a voice filled with absolute, tyrannical power.
"From now onwards," he declared, his voice resonating with chilling finality, "Vasmos belongs to Astinkein! And I am your King of
Kings!"
Chapter 5: Years of Sanctuary