Kitchen – Moments Before the Screams
Mirey's hand trembled—not with fear, but anticipation—as she pressed the cold edge of Dorcas's own sword to the maid's neck. Dorcas was on her knees, blood staining her sleeve from earlier strikes, eyes lowered. Mirey's voice was low and venomous.
"You were never one of them. And still you bend the knee. Still you serve. They call us Toys—lesser, created things. But tonight, we remind them what happens when their toys break."
She drew a breath, ready to slice—
Then came a whisper of air, sudden and unnatural. A cold breeze rolled through the kitchen like a phantom wind, extinguishing a nearby flame.
Mirey blinked.
And in that instant, the weight in front of her was gone.
Shhhk—
A blade pressed to her throat.
She froze.
Dorcas now stood behind her, breathing calm, one eye bruised, the other glinting with defiance. Her voice was deathly quiet.
"You talk too much. Especially for a Toy."
The blade moved with purpose—
But before the killing strike could land, a scream tore through the air, followed by shouts from the direction of the Founders Hall. Panic. Battle.
Dorcas's focus wavered for just a second.
Enough.
Mirey twisted away, her fingers darting to a bowl of white powder on the counter—salt.
She flung it into Dorcas's face.
"A Toy... doesn't forget."
Dorcas cried out, reeling, hands clawing at her burning eyes.
And Mirey didn't wait. She dashed to the window, leapt onto the ledge, and with a leap of supernatural grace, vanished into the night.
Dorcas, now clearing her vision, staggered to the window. Her eyes stung, but she could see the smoke now—fire, battle, chaos.
"No..."
She turned and ran toward the hall.
To protect Mariah.
To warn the Founders.
To finish what Mirey started.
—
The City of Cain & Guardian King's Palace — Nightfall
As the horn's echo faded across the city of Cain, chaos erupted. The invasion had begun.
Amariah's forces swept through the outer districts—burning banners of the Guardian King, toppling statues, and forcing their way through the city's gates. They moved swiftly, cutting through resistance from Cain's outer sentries.
The Guardian King, already prepared for such a day, activated his plan.
Within the palace, alarms rang. Children clung to their mothers, whispered prayers as the hallways flooded with refugees.
In the hidden corridors of the palace, the Guardian King stood tall, his face solemn. "Move quickly," he told the captain beside him, "no hesitation."
The captain saluted and herded the frightened group down a long staircase that led to the sanctuary—an ancient chamber sealed beneath the palace, where sacred protections lingered.
At the door to the sanctuary, the Guardian King turned.
"You," he pointed to a female warrior, her face stern and focused, "you are in charge here. Keep them safe. No one opens this door unless I return."
"Yes, my King."
He nodded. As the massive stone doors closed, he placed his palm against it briefly.
"Please, Protect them." he whispered.
He turned and strode back up the hallway, placing two guards at the sealed door, then gathered his warriors.
"To the gate!"
---
Outside the Guardian King's Palace
Amariah and her army clashed with the defenders at the palace steps. Flaming arrows rained from the towers. Steel met steel in brutal waves.
Elder Put roared commands as his warriors pressed forward, but the palace was not undefended. Elite warriors—handpicked by the Guardian King—stood like statues at the gates, their golden armor gleaming beneath the moonlight.
Amariah fought through them, cutting a path with sheer force, but the Huntress appeared.
"Going somewhere?"
Amariah turned—both women bloodied and breathless from their earlier duel.
"I won't let you stop what's coming," Amariah growled.
"Then die trying," the Huntress replied.
They charged, blades clashing once more. Sparks flew, fury reignited.
---
Inside the Palace — Shadows of War
Mark and David moved fast, carving through Salem invaders in the western halls. They moved like a unit, silent and deadly.
But something was wrong.
Mark stopped, his eyes narrowing.
"Wait."
David turned. "What is it?"
Shadows—not from torches, but moving on their own—slid along the walls ahead.
These were not rebels.
They were taller, their movements too smooth, their presence cold.
David tensed. "Those… those aren't ours."
Mark gripped his sword tighter.
"They're heading toward the Founders' palace."
He turned to David. "We need to move. Now."
The two warriors broke from the current battle, weaving through chaos, slicing through enemy fighters while keeping their eyes on the creeping, unnatural figures moving toward the sacred heart of Eden.
---