The calculation was complete. Corvin Nyx stood on the ridge above Lithos, the cold rage of his twenty-three years concentrated into a single, lethal focus. Below lay thirty armed mercenaries—the final barrier between him and the foundation of his eternal order: Obel Harth, the meticulous builder, and Veridian Vex, the ex mercenary.
I. The Sensory Blackout
The mission began at the deepest point of the night cycle. Corvin relied entirely on the psychic unity of his Tactical Flock-Link. He viewed the camp not with his eyes, but through the Raven's Eye View—an overwhelming, omniscient stream of surveillance data filtered through the Murder.
Annihilation must be silent. Time must be bought with blood.
Corvin issued the command. The Black Flock rose in unison, generating a low, dense whisper of beating wings that perfectly masked the sound of the operation.
Under this auditory shield, the first phase of the Black Flock Gambit commenced.
Plunging the Darkness: Ravens swooped in groups of two and three, surgically snuffing all external light sources. Lantern wicks were plucked, and oil lamps were shattered, plunging the entire perimeter into sudden, absolute darkness.
Severing the Voice: Other ravens focused on the fragile lines of communication. Field wires were instantly severed, signal flares were destroyed, and the mercenaries' ability to communicate with the outside world—and each other—was permanently dissolved.
The only remaining light came from the cold, intense glow of Corvin's Eyes of the Abyss. He was ready for the kill.
II. The Execution of Chaos
Corvin moved with a speed that belied his human form. He possessed no formal combat training, but his body, muscled and sharp from the Obsidian fusion, was a weapon of pure, unmeasured force. His first target was the most isolated sentry.
Corvin closed the distance in a soundless blur, relying on the Eyes of the Abyss to track the sentry's breath and heart rhythm in the absolute blackness. He did not spar. He delivered a single, calculated, bone-shattering blow to the base of the skull, relying on his raw, crushing strength to ensure instant, silent death. The only sound was the dull thud of the body hitting the cold earth. Corvin instantly acquired the guard's knife, the cold steel feeling primitive in his hand compared to the power in his veins.
Eliminating Command: He moved toward the sleeping tents, executing the mercenary leader with a quiet, lethal finality. The absence of the command structure was critical; it guaranteed that even awakened men would lack the ability to organize a defense.
The Coordinated Blitz: Corvin then issued the final command to the Murder.
Strike. Silence.
The Black Flock descended in a chaotic, concentrated maelstrom onto the remaining twenty-seven mercenaries. The sound was an ear-splitting cacophony of caws and beating wings. The attack was instantaneous and surgical: Ravens targeted eyes and throats, blinding and silencing their victims.
The effect was devastating. Mercenaries screamed, confused by the sudden, unnatural darkness and the sensation of being attacked by pure shadow. They fumbled for weapons, their training useless against the coordinated chaos.
Corvin moved through the pandemonium like a spectral judgment. He neutralized the awakened targets with brutal efficiency, using the acquired knife or striking with raw, crushing force. He snapped necks and crushed chests, ensuring every blow was fatal, final, and swift. He moved from one muffled, desperate scene to the next, often finding the Ravens had already blinded his target, leaving them helpless and screaming in the dark.
When his knife dulled, he crushed a piece of quarry stone under his heel, forming improvised Obsidian shards—his first weaponized magic—and used the razor-sharp fragments for silent, precise strikes. He did not stop until the terrible sounds of the massacre faded into the cold silence of the morning. All thirty mercenaries were annihilated.
III. The First Vow
Corvin Nyx stood in the center of the silent camp, the air thick with blood, the Black Flock settled silently around him. The mission was complete. He secured the keys and walked to the cages where prisoners and slaves were kept.
He found Obel Harth and Veridian Vex chained, their faces pale with exhaustion, but their eyes watching the carnage with terrifying intensity. Corvin severed their chains, the links shrieking their surrender.
The villagers—some twenty to thirty broken souls who had witnessed the annihilation—stared at the figure before them: a man their age, whose presence commanded the darkness.
Corvin did not waste words on empathy. He spoke with the cold, absolute logic of his mission: "The Union is weak they abused you, took your fellows, take children into slavery where they know hellish suffering. They failed you. They died for their failure. I offer absolute order and security."
He looked first at Veridian Vex (23), recognizing the disciplined intelligence in the mercenary's eyes: "You were a mercenary yet they made you slave, join me. You will manage my defense. You will show me how to fight."
Then at Obel Harth: "You are a mason made to do hard labor whose material was used to fuel the Union and their teachery. You will design my structure."
And finally, to the able-bodied villagers: "You will take their weapons. Your suffering ends now your rise begins. Your freedom is submission. You are my Legion."
The choice was simple: return to the chaos of the Union and die or be enslaved, or submit to the absolute security of the Raven Lord. The villagers, seeing the blood, the silence, and the promise of a superior power, began to move. They took up the blades of their dead tormentors.
Corvin Nyx had acquired his first assets. The clock had begun for the construction of the First Satellite Tower and the training of the Raven Legion.