Chapter 22 – The Storming of Zuvendis
The gates of Zuvendis did not fall with a roar.
They shattered.
A single strike of Maniakes' blackened blade tore through centuries of stone and iron as if the walls were brittle clay. The thunder of its breaking shook the earth, and shards of metal screamed into the night sky. Soldiers who had manned the ramparts were flung from their posts, their cries cut short as they vanished into the dust.
From the ruins poured shadow.
They did not march like men. They slithered, they crawled, they leapt across stone like smoke with claws, a thousand writhing silhouettes that hissed hunger into the night. The people of Zuvendis screamed as their streets were swallowed whole, torches extinguished by an unnatural wind that carried whispers of the dead.
And at their head strode Maniakes.
His armor bled with crimson light, his eyes twin embers burning through the chaos. His every step cracked stone beneath his heels. Where his blade swung, walls split, soldiers fell, and blood ran like rivers down the cobblestones.
"Protect the palace!" cried Captain Deyros, rallying what men remained. They formed lines, shields locked, spears aimed at the advancing tide. Their voices shook, but desperation lent them courage.
Maniakes lifted a hand. Shadows surged past him like a flood, slamming against the shield wall with the weight of nightmares. The formation broke within moments, soldiers dragged screaming into the dark, their bones snapping like dry twigs.
The city became a slaughterhouse.
Mothers clutched their children and fled into alleyways, only to be met by the crawling horrors that whispered in their ears until madness claimed them. Fires erupted as oil stores ignited, the sky above Zuvendis blooming red and black.
From the high tower of the palace, Queen Salera watched in horror, her hands trembling against the window ledge. Tears cut lines through her pale cheeks as she whispered to herself:
"My son… what have we made of you?"
In the throne room below, King Arthelion stood armed in full war-plate, his sword glinting faintly, his face a mask of iron though fear coiled in his veins. He heard the gates break, the screams of his people, the howls of monsters born from shadow. And he knew the storm was moving closer.
Closer to him.
The pounding of boots echoed through the shattered streets. Maniakes advanced, his blade dripping red, the cries of the dying rising behind him like a hymn of ruin. His voice boomed, not shouted but heavy with the power of one who no longer walked as man:
"Arthelion!"
The name carried like a curse through the burning city.
Every heart trembled. Every soul knew.
The son had come for his father.
And the gates of Zuvendis had opened not to battle — but to reckoning.