I. The March of Coin and Carnality
To the West, the horizon groaned. The Trazarch Union army did not march; it sprawled. Twenty thousand men—a patchwork monster of the Iron Legion, the Free Companies, and emptied prison battalions—flooded the main trade road like a mudslide.
It was a spectacle of immense, terrifying waste, governed by a cold, miserly logic. They stripped the villages they passed, leaving them hollowed out but standing, preserving the tax base while stealing the life.
But the true horror lay in the rear guard, amidst the baggage train.
Among the wagons laden with luxury tents and wine casks, there were cages. The Union commanders, knowing the brutal nature of the mercenaries they had hired, had brought "provisions" to keep the army content. These were not supplies of grain. They were wagons filled with human chattel—slaves purchased from the flesh markets of Aurum or seized from the roadside.
It was a parade of depravity. Women with hollow, dead eyes sat chained in open carts. Men, broken and bruised, were dragged along as porters. Worst of all were the smaller wagons, obscured but unmistakable, holding children and young boys and girls. They were there for one purpose: to satiate the sickest urges of the mercenaries when the marching stopped.
The mercenaries guarded these wagons as jealously as they guarded the gold. To them, these people were not human; they were a perk of the contract, a bonus paid in flesh. The casual, open cruelty of it—the way a captain might inspect a child captive while eating an apple—was a manifestation of the Malum's rot made visible.
II. The Shared Vision (The Collective Rage)
Thirty miles away, Corvin Nyx stood atop Obsidios Iubeo. Obsius perched on his shoulder, its black eyes transmitting the high-altitude view of the approaching army directly into Corvin's mind.
Corvin saw the cages. He saw the terror on the faces of the children. He saw the mercenaries laughing as they tormented their captives.
He did not shield his people from this sight. He weaponized the truth.
Using the Cohesion Collective and the Obsidian Ordo as a massive psychic amplifier, Corvin projected a flicker of this vision to his Captains, his soldiers, and the citizens of his city. It wasn't a clear picture, but a flash of sensory truth—the sound of the weeping, the sight of the chains, the overwhelming sense of violation.
The reaction in Obsidios Iubeo was instant. The silence of the work crews broke, replaced by a low, collective growl of fury. The fear of the invading army evaporated instantly.
A baker, feeling the psychic flash, gripped his peel until his knuckles cracked. "They bring chains for our children," he spat.
A mother in the outer city, seeing the phantom image of the Union's baggage train, pulled her daughter close and looked at the Raven Legion on the walls not with hope, but with a demand: Kill them all.
The Union had made a fatal error. They thought they were marching to suppress a rebellion. Instead, by bringing their depravity to the doorstep of the Imperium, they had turned every citizen in Obsidios Iubeo into a fanatic.
III. The Splitting of the Legion
In the Grand Plaza, the military evolution of the Imperium took place. Corvin Nyx stood on the dais, flanked by Obsidian Marshall Garrus Vane and Legion Commander Veridian Vex. The air crackled with the shared, murderous intent of the army.
"You have seen what approaches," Corvin's voice resonated, cold and lethal. "They bring their rot to our gates. They bring slavery. They bring the abuse of the innocent as a 'supply line'."
The Raven Legion—nearly 3,600 soldiers—slammed their spears against their shields. DEATH.
Corvin turned to Veridian Vex. "Commander Veridian. Take the First Legion to Obsidios Lithos. You will be the hammer that strikes from behind. Leave no one alive to carry those chains back to Aurum."
Veridian saluted, his face a mask of grim promise. "It shall be done."
Corvin then summoned Captain Orion Kirtide. "Orion. You have stood where others wavered. Today, you rise."
Corvin placed a hand on Orion's pauldron, the violet energy flaring. "I name you Legion Commander of the Second Legion. You are the Anvil of Iubeo. You will hold this city against the tide."
IV. The Arming of the New
The industrial heart of the city roared. Alcides Ynatos (Tenebrium) worked with a fury that matched the furnaces. The news of the slave wagons had reached the forges, and the smiths hammered the Obsidian-infused steel with a violence that bordered on worship.
The new recruits were filed through the armory. Alcides handed out the gear—Obsidian Plate and Gladii that glowed with a faint, hungry chill.
"This blade inhibits healing," Alcides told a young recruit, his voice rough with smoke and rage. "When you strike them, make sure they feel it rot."
The recruits, feeling the Aura of Dread radiating from their own bodies, stood taller. They were no longer refugees. They were the executioners of a corrupt world.
V. The Tears and The Thunder
As dusk fell, the last of the field hands retreated behind the massive walls. The Second Legion manned the battlements, their Obsidian-tipped arrows nocked. Orion Kirtide stood at the main gate, a statue of black iron.
Corvin Nyx ascended to the apex of the tower, standing beside the pulsing Void Stone. Through the Raven's Eye View, he watched the Union army make camp ten miles out. He saw them dragging the captives from the wagons for the night's "entertainment." He felt the spike of terror from the innocent, miles away.
The Obsidian Ordo reacted to the collective psyche of the Imperium. The domain was no longer just a static field; it was alive with the emotions of its people.
The clouds above Obsidios Iubeo thickened into a bruised, heaving ceiling of absolute black. A cold, torrential rain began to fall. It was not a storm of nature; it was a manifestation of grief. The rain fell heavy and hard, washing over the black walls like tears—the physical embodiment of the sadness felt by every mother, father, and soldier for the enslaved souls in the baggage train.
Then, the sky tore open.
Massive arcs of violet lightning shattered the darkness, connecting the clouds to the earth in jagged spears of light. The thunder did not roll; it boomed with the percussive force of a cannon, shaking the ground. The lightning was the visual echo of the people's fury—a raw, electrical promise of violence.
Rain for the sorrow. Lightning for the wrath.
Corvin stood amidst the storm, the rain slicking his hair, the lightning reflecting in his Eyes of the Abyss. The weather was his people's heartbeat.
"Let them come," Corvin whispered to the thunder.
The gates were barred. The trap was set. The Siege of Obsidios Iubeo had begun.