The mass teleportation spell finished casting and everyone within the vicinity of the spell's effect were transported from the Army Training Grounds to just in front of the head of the Stinging Blood Tortoise.

The soldiers were humbled, not just from the display of power shown by the Grand Mage in that moment, but by the sights from their first time beyond the walls of the Bastion of Hope. The teleportation had blinded them for just a few seconds, but the amazing view that awaited them was worth their sight altogether in repentance. The simple views provided by the Bastion could not hold a candle to the scenery of the poisonous fog embroiling the monstrous Tortoise, it's head and body nestled against the dirt of the earth through a thin veil.

"To see such a thing, even if I die today, I live with no regrets." Such was the consensus of the soldiers as one of them spoke aloud. To be given the honor of greeting an immortal being even once in their lifetime, they would gladly have given their lives.

To Willem, this was just another trial.

Connecting to the mind of the Stinging Blood Tortoise, the Grand Mage offered words of arrival before the battle was to begin.

"To old friends and new alliances... Thank you for receiving me, um..." Willem could not remember asking the Stinging Blood Tortoise what his name was. "Forgive me, I must have taken leave of my senses, I never asked your name."

"To be caught... Upon such a thing, you mortals are so funny... My name is Ashkatar, little one." The Tortoise responded gently. "I have forewarned the magical beings inside me of your coming, as is my right..."

"Ashkatar, a name truly worthy of an immortal existence. Whether they know or not has no bearing on my plan. I hope for your co-operation in the years to come." The Grand Mage bowed politely and awaited entrance to Blood City.

"Yes, I sense great pride in you. I hope all that you seek, you find." The Tortoise winked slowly at Willem.

Ashkatar opened his mouth wide, revealing jutting protrusions of grey and green on the outer layers but a fleshy vibrant pink inside the mouth. A small patch of darker pink rested on the roof of the Tortoise's mouth.

"You lot smell better than the dark elves when they first arrived, all caked in shit and dust." The Stinging Blood Tortoise remarked as Willem and his Legion stood on the tongue of the great beast.

The Stinging Blood Tortoise closed it's mouth completely as Willem patiently waited, but did not respond to the kind words given by the beast.

"Time to begin." The old Tortoise appeared in front of Willem as a vision, wielding a small cane as a crutch and pointing upward with his free hand toward the soft patch of off-color pink.

A small beam of blue energy flowed from the patch toward the feet of the Army, creating a runic circle that twisted and unlocked as multiple layers of spells congealed together.

Before long, the Army found themselves at the entrance of Blood City.

Though to call it Blood City seemed to be the folly of the dark elves. Such a term could not possibly describe the essence of this beautifully sculpted landscape.

Veins of red flowed like shallow rivers along the ground where the soldiers stepped, pumping the blood that made the Stinging Blood Tortoise immortal. Houses were built around the major organs of the Stinging Blood Tortoise, shifting and creaking with each breath from the monstrous beast.

"Paradiso Rosso." Willem, who had been learning an old language crafted by a race called the Asphodai thousands of years ago, named what was reflected in his eyes.

Red Paradise.

To be the first City conquered by the Grand Mage, truly the Gods were granting him a gift for his hard work and efforts. Now all that was left was to purge the City of any dark elf that tried to stop him and secure a stronghold away from the Bastion of Hope.

The soldiers took their formation after being lost in wonderment for longer than any of them actually cared to admit.

"Your orders, Grand Mage?" Sir Gehrig approached from the front of the formation, removing his helmet to speak.

"Any who resist, kill them without mercy and pile their bodies in heaps. If they surrender, bind them, we will be taking prisoners of war. If any of our men are mortally wounded or dead, try to keep their bodies intact." The Grand Mage spoke his final words before stepping forward to greet his opponents.

Sir Gehrig relayed the orders to the Army just as the Grand Mage had said and donned his helmet once more. A menacing aura took hold as Gehrig removed his sword, 'Storm' from it's scabbard and held it gently in his hands.

The span of time for the Army to re-adjust to the new area and fix their formation was enough for the enemies to descend upon them. If not for the potions they had drank earlier improving their eyesight, they would have not even been able to see the enemies they would be fighting. A full force of five-thousand, with five hundred leading the pack carrying a pretentious swagger and intricately decorated armors.

A slim but muscular woman stepped forward, the engraved ornate pommel of her blade held over her head victoriously. The curves of her jaw made her face look especially elongated, her ears pointed and pulled back as if they had been stretched for purposes unknown. Her tanned skin resonated beautifully with the red of the City, making her appear vicious and bloodthirsty.

"Vishkai grant us the strength to slay the enemies before us. Hallow these grounds as we defen-" A sudden gust stopped the Commander in the middle of her speech.

As quickly as she appeared to rally her troops, her head fell from her shoulders, leaving a distinct thud upon the ground. As her body slumped over from the force, the blood pooled out and was absorbed into the veins of the Stinging Blood Tortoise.

"Never let your guard down." Willem re-appeared behind the fallen body of the dead Commander, his twisted sword remaining by his side, clean as if it had just been released from its scabbard.

"No honor!" One of the elves screamed as she watched the body fall to the floor.

"Monster! He's a monster!"

"Vishkai, save us!"

"Issala... Issala?" A young man from within the group of five hundred front soldiers broke formation and rushed to the dead body, ignoring Willem completely.

"Issala! Issala..." The young man held the body tightly within his arms as he kept screaming the same word over and over.

Willem searched his memory, trying to interpret the word that kept being repeated over and over. From his rudimentary knowledge of dark elven language, he understood after hearing it enough.

Issala meant Sister.

Without even meaning to, Willem froze on the spot and could not move. Despite the enemy standing in front of him, poised and ready to attack, Willem could not take his eyes of the dark elf young man. For some reason, Willem could not help but feel bad for the boy who had just lost his family member, crumpled and defeated, reminding him of when he found out his Mother had taken her own life.

For all his perceived ideas of right and wrong, his emotions were discordant with his thoughts. He did not put much thought into killing the enemies when they sent the Red Dragon scouting party, since he was busy defending his homeland. However this time was different, this time he was the invader who was taking away the homes of people whom had lived here their entire lives.

He could no longer muster the strength to swing his sword. He knew that this was war, and that every war had casualties, but seeing the face of the boy whom had just lost his kin forced Willem to confront his own fears. Fears he thought he had locked away when he became a Mage under the guidance of Grand Mage Archus.

"That's right, Archus..." Willem remembered the promise he had made to his Master.

Forming a mental connection to Gehrig, Willem reminded him of the plan and told him to lead the fight, there was a promise made between Grand Mage's that Willem had to uphold.

That, and he could no longer stomach looking at the young man holding his decapitated sister...

Sir Gehrig, who was previously shell shocked from the death of the enemy Commander, snapped back to reality and lead the charge against the Red Assassins leading the enemy.

The young dark elf man took the body and head of his sister and retreated to the back line, far away from the fight as possible.

A fierce battle began as both sides crashed against each other in a swarm of swords and spears, multi-color hues exploding out as magical energies activated and swept across the small skirmishes.

Soldiers called out the name of the weapons, imbuing them with the strength to rival their enemies innate power.

Sir Rowan and Eli tore through the battlefield with their fully activated wind armor, like bolts of lightning tearing their enemies asunder.

"More monsters! We cannot continue like this!" The elves yelled to the Commanders as they began to lose hope.

Some time had passed since the fighting began, but the bodies of dead elves began to pile up more and more compared to their foe. Killing blows to the chest, neck and head made quick work of the dark elves whom were unaccustomed to such an enclosed style of combat. Their combat style was in fact quite the opposite, focusing on using stealth and ambush combined with guerrilla tactics to sever the enemies supply chains and break their will.

"Push forward, mongrels. You are fighting for your families!" The leaders of the enemy Army attempted to break the siege by pushing forward and splitting the invading enemy apart.

The idea was good for being on the spot and under immense pressure, but the human Legion had a contingency plan for just such an action.

Sir Kris and Mark stood their ground and activated their earthen armor, becoming immovable objects in their fixed positions. To their side, shields were hoisted and a makeshift barrier was created on the spot, forcing the elven Army to back down and become surrounded by the more quick-stepping humans whom had flanked them.

Amid heavy pressure from all sides, the offensive of the elves crumbled and cries of lament resounded from the mortally wounded dark elves as they cried for reprieve.

"Please, we are just common folk, we surrender." Despite the leaders of the enemy Army showing no intention to back down, the bulk of their Army had been soundly defeated. The Red Assassins, having always been a plague to the Bastion of Hope by destroying their livelihoods and kidnapping anyone they could to force into slavery, were out of their element and killed without mercy.

The leaders of the dark elves were too proud to surrender their ancestral homeland, and fought to the bitter end. Some even went so far as to request one on one combat with enemy Commanders. The expression of resignation and sadness at the remaining dark elves weighed on the minds of Sir Gehrig.

"What would the Grand Mage do?"

Most of the dark elves who willingly surrendered were now bound in chains, given low potency salves to cleanse their wounds and taken to the entrance where the human Legion had entered the Stinging Blood Tortoise. This was the best the Army could do under such short notice and not really having an area to put prisoners of war.

Sir Gehrig allowed the enemy Commanders to challenge him alone, which became a contest of three versus one.

Storm, his blood-tipped lance, stabbed at the first of the dark elf Commanders, digging deep into his shoulder as the runes etched upon it began to glow. The depiction of a wolf eating a small man grew larger as the wolf began to bend and stretch, slowly wrapping itself around the armor of Sir Gehrig. The Commander whom had been stabbed was brought to his knees, as if the lifeforce had been sucked out of him.

Another Commander unsuccessfully tried to ambush Sir Gehrig from behind, and was met with a small dagger in his stomach from a riposte. His guts spilled on the ground as Gehrig dragged his dagger clean through from one side of the elf's body to the other. The man tried his best to shove his intestines back in, his body quickly becoming numb to the pain as his life ended.

The final confrontation was just as quick, the final Commander knowing he was very clearly outmatched. With no one else to aid him, and no way out, the Dark Elf took his own dagger and sliced his throat, a final show of defiance to the enemy.

His body was taken away and thrown on top of the pile with the others.

In terms of time, the battle had lasted a little over two hours, with many casualties from both sides. Just as the Grand Mage had ordered, the bodies of the dark elves were piled together, and anyone who willingly became a prisoner of war was not killed.