Emperor Ji Meng waved away the servant that was attempting to help him with his armor, and pulled the strap tight on his own. He walked to the decadent mannequin holding up his armor and pulled the last piece of equipment free—the helmet with its great crescent moon perched atop and his demon-like mask. He fitted the helm over his head, while the mask hung loosely from his left hand. His armor had grown somewhat loose over these years where nothing stimulated his appetite, so he tightened it yet further.

Ji Meng walked to the wall where his formidable dadao hung. Long ago, his court had insisted he discard this ‘peasant weapon.’ In response, he’d had one of the divine weapons of the Great Chu reforged inside it. He felt unfathomable strength surge as he took hold of it. He called upon the vital force within him, feeling it rumble like a storm.

“If the enemy has boarded, I will meet them,” he declared, turning around to where one of his bodyguards stood. “With spell and blade, I will cast their bodies into the sea. I will overturn this ambush, and slay them to the last.” He hefted the large blade over his shoulder and walked to the door. “I will take command. If they came here, they seek to cut off the head. They seek either Admiral Tan Shu or myself. I will have an ambush of my own ready. You—relay my orders,” he pointed to one of his men.

Emperor Ji Meng lifted the mask in his left hand up to his face, and it slotted into the helmet perfectly. The demonic face that it depicted hid something of an eager, if nervous, smile on his face. Even if he himself had not known it, he’d longed for the feeling of being near death once again. He felt fear at the coordination, the ferocity, and the sheer strangeness of his foes.

That fear was turning out to be sweeter than any food in the imperial court, and his hunger was finally roused.

#####

The Great Chu had two sorts of spellcaster combatants. There were those who used traditional magic; namely, spells cast from matrixes. And then there were those who used weaponry to manifest the magic within themselves. It was not so dissimilar to enchanted weaponry within Vasquer, yet rather than implant the magic through [Imbuing], each and every combatant imbued the weapon with their own magic to enact the blade’s enchantment—though they called magic ‘vital force.’ In turn, these weapons were not called ‘enchanted.’ They were so common in the Great Chu that they did not have a name at all. It spoke to their power.

The sheer number of troops that ran to confront them when they landed was so overwhelming that Argrave knew any attempts to be mobile initially would be utterly fruitless. Hundreds of archers took their place on elevated positions all around them. Soldiers wearing the lamellar armor of the Great Chu ran up from the deck, forming disciplined ranks. These were no raiders—they would not rush foolhardily, but instead intended to gather their forces in a defensible location before they had forces enough to ensure a rapid and total victory.

But their time to gather played into Argrave’s plans, too. When they landed on the deck the first thing that Argrave did was call upon his Brumesingers. They scrambled from his heavy coat, bounding across the deck while singing their chiming, melodious song. Their barely-perceptible gray mist blessed by the dryads spread out all around them. Everyone in this group had been touched by the dryads, and so this mist would not affect them… yet for all others, it would be a plague unlike any others.

The faint gray wisps of the Brumesingers burst out across the deck. For two years they’d been feasting on the souls of the greatest warriors, and now that gathered power made its grandest entrance yet. The Brumesingers used this fog to protect themselves in the wild, but Argrave had been filling that role for them. As such, they’d built a glut of power within themselves—a glut that Argrave felt was perfect to spend here.

Indeed, the timing was so perfect that out of everyone, these Brumesingers would be most vital for this entire operation.

The Brumesingers vanished into mist, and yet their song continued deeper, deeper into the fortress. The troops seemed uneasy as the fog fell upon them, but they could not know what it was that seeped into their lungs, their skin, their very soul. This whole ship would, soon. But just as they surrounded their foes with the brume, their foes surrounded Argrave’s group.

With the blow of a horn, the archers began their first barrage at the heart of Argrave’s small party. Each of the archers here possessed the magic capacity of a B-rank spellcaster, and each of their weapons were capable of harnessing magic. In response, Castro cast the S-rank [Cradle of Gods], and an S-rank ward encircled them.

“In this domain, any attacks made against my allies are greatly weakened!” he shouted, calling upon the Domain of Law. It took shape around them. Argrave knelt to the ground, looking to those around him. “Don’t get distracted for a second. Soon, their spellcasters will come here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vera responded, paranoidly watching each and every avenue for where an attack might come.

Argrave closed his eyes and held his hand up. He conjured up the A-rank spell [Heart of the Pack]. Argrave’s Brumesingers had always been bound to him by use of the C-rank [Pack Leader]. He’d clung to this method instead of direct control as Anneliese had over her sparrow for this spell in particular.

Argrave felt his soul intertwine with the Brumesingers’ as they spread their influence throughout the Sea Dragon. He was one, and yet he was five—and five were one as a single pack. He became his Brumesingers, experienced all that they did completely. And they became him, knowing and understanding all of his desires and wants so intensely. Argrave knew that he was changed in that moment, and so were they.

Argrave and his four other bodies roamed the vast floating fortress that was the Sea Dragon, spreading the brume everywhere it could reach. He sung the song that he had only before heard, filling barracks, filling dormitories, filling the palatial rooms where the S-rank spellcasters of the Great Chu resided. Argrave could feel the brume. It was not merely a fog to him anymore—it was like a vast network that his brain was attached to. Everywhere it stirred, every figure that walked through it… he knew where they were, what they said. The sensations would’ve overwhelmed his human mind, but the burden was shouldered by the pack. Argrave was merely its heart.

Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps the brume might’ve been cast away by the wind. But the Sea Dragon was encircled by a great ward, keeping projectiles and tempests from ever gracing its deck. What was a marvel of magic engineering became nothing more than the seal to their fate as the barely-discernible mists crept up, down, and all around this mighty flagship.

In time, Argrave discovered a network within his domain of fog. It was commands, orders, all rippling outward from a central point. The imprecision of it and the slow movement of the fog made it incredibly difficult to discern their source… but Argrave pressed ever onward, consuming more of the ship with the aid of his Brumesingers.

A deafening crack broke Argrave’s concentration. Argrave opened his eyes to see the dim afterimage of incredibly powerful lightning. Castro’s ward had shattered, and now Onychinusa created another to hold its place. Even with the brume dampening the power of magic, and with Argrave’s Domain of Law weakening all attacks, S-rank spells were S-rank spells.

“We cannot hold much longer, Argrave,” Anneliese informed him. “Hurry.”

Argrave closed his eyes and lapsed back into the heart of the pack. He desperately listened to all of the words, the commands, as the faint mist crept its way up the giant square building before them. Meanwhile, yet more made its way to the front of the boat. It was coming together—bits and pieces there, a commander here, and Argrave managed to isolate the officers of their command structure.

Just as Argrave’s pack made it to the front of the Sea Dragon, yet another deafening crack disturbed his thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard yet more pleading. They could not remain in this location much longer.

Argrave found Admiral Tan Shu. She desperately commanded the navy from the front deck, fighting a losing battle. Argrave seized upon the opportunity and pooled fog in the area. When she began to notice something was amiss, Argrave conjured a single shade from the mist. It was a great Veidimen warrior wielding a maul, and it clubbed her in the back of the head. She slammed against the railing, then tipped over and fell off the side. She wore divine gear and Argrave doubted he’d even knocked her unconscious, but the interruption to their command would be nonetheless devastating.

The incident brought the faintest whisper of suspicion about this mysterious fog. Perhaps all had thought it was merely mist from the ocean. Now, the brightest few had other ideas about what it might be. They said the vital force within them was disturbed. They felt malaise—weakness, failing sight, nausea. They heard the eerie chiming spreading throughout the ship, without an obvious source yet without an obvious end… but even if they knew, it was far too late for that. Perhaps they dismissed it as anxiety. Perhaps adrenaline hid the feelings. If they told their commanders, they would receive no comfort. Those wearing divine armaments were barely affected, and so the commanders would dismiss these claims as the nerves of battle.

But in time, they would know the wrath of the dryads. Argrave and his pack had nearly permeated every part of the ship.

Argrave found the emperor’s room… empty, save his servants huddling in the corner. On and on he tracked the chain of command, searching for its heart. He came upon a room—a vast training hall, where amply used training equipment lay untouched. And there, partially hidden… Argrave spotted Emperor Ji Meng. He heard his command.

“If they would remain in that wide-open deck… we have no reason not to surround them, wear them down.” He hefted his dadao in his hand. As Argrave looked upon that demonic mask and helmet, he knew he’d found the great conqueror Ji Meng. “I will advance closer.”

Another deafening crack burst into Argrave’s ears, and he opened his eyes wide as a ward scattered around him in golden fragments. He stood up. “I’ve found him!”

“About fucking time!” shouted Hegazar.

“I’ll lead!” Argrave continued, stepping ahead of everyone. “Move on up!”

Argrave, his spellcasters, and his Veidimen retinue advanced straight toward the giant square building that was the heart of the Sea Dragon. A thousand troops had massed to block them. Though smaller than the snow elves, these were elite troops, equipped with Great Chu weapons and trained in martial arts for decades.

But the rot had already set in.

As Argrave and his companions dealt with barrage of magic-imbued arrows and spells, the Veidimen confronted the first of the troops. Argrave could see the magic—their ‘vital force’—within, moving slow and sluggish like mud. The first few of them managed to imbue their magic-harnessing weapons with their vital force, and sent forth blades of wind, of fire, and great arcs of electricity… but the Veidimen shrugged these attacks off with deft parries, and then fell upon them.

This elite troop, the emperor’s personal army, had impeccable techniques. Their footwork was coordinated, their attacks were precise and wasted no energy, and they were decade-long veterans of combat with unrivalled adaptability. But their muscles were failing, their eyesight was off, and nothing functioned as it ought to have. It was like a thousand elite ­five-year-olds. They lacked strength, they lacked coordination—their soul wasn’t aligned with their body.

Argrave’s Veidimen honor guard effortlessly dismantled person after person. One blow was enough to send these hollow shells tumbling. Some of them, once on the ground, couldn’t even stand back up. Argrave wasn’t too confident about his martial prowess, but he felt he could take these people. But even still, he dismissed such arrogant thoughts, keeping the emperor’s location close in his mind.

Leaving behind hundreds, Argrave pressed into the heart of the Sea Dragon.

#####

Those beyond the flagship engaged in battle could not help but peer at the Sea Dragon. Following Argrave’s descent, the whole of it had been consumed by an unearthly fog, billowing out ever so slowly before being contained by the ward protecting the ship. It seemed to have become a ghost ship. Those nearest to it would hear faint chiming, like a siren’s song. Before long, it stopped moving entirely.

Just as the heart of their fleet was consumed by a dark fog, so too were all others feeling the fog of war. The wyverns, the longships, and the great ice dragon blocking any hope of retreat… this battle was expertly coordinated. And behind it all, an ill omen brewed. It stood as proof. Proof that mortals alone were not behind this battle.

Far behind the Great Chu’s navy, a great storm took shape far quicker than it had any right to. Powerful winds churned the surface of the ocean—nay, the ocean itself seemed to writhe with a will of its own. And gathering at the heart of both, a storm condensed into a towering hurricane. The skies had been clear not minutes ago, yet now a great tsunami and hurricane both threatened to sweep across this battle, consigning both armies into oblivion.

Sataistador stood at the shore, watching this brewing storm with a wide smile on his face. “The gods behind this voyage finally show themselves…” He savagely licked his teeth with anticipation, then rolled his shoulders. “Such panic… I’ll enjoy you, little triplets of the Qircassian Coalition. You’ll scream louder than your storm.”