Chapter Fifty-Three– The Shadow's Decision
The sun hovered above the broken city of Vareth, its rays filtering through smoke rising from still-smoldering buildings. The Sultan, adorned in a robe of deep red and golden embroidery, finally rode into the conquered city.
Despite the devastation, life seemed to resume—merchants returning to markets, civilians sweeping their homes, children peering cautiously from behind doorways. The Sultan frowned. These people… they weren't celebrating his victory. They were surviving.
He dismounted, his boots clacking on the scorched cobblestones, and approached his last remaining general, General Kassem, the only high-ranking officer left standing after the brutal siege.
"What did we gain, general?" the Sultan asked with a venomous calm. "Besides ash and corpses?"
Kassem, battered and limping, bowed low. "My lord, we captured the city… and a general from the opposing forces—one they called GreenWolf. Alongside him, around two hundred or three hundred soldiers surrendered after the collapse of their lines."
"And the cost?" the Sultan growled.
"…Four of our best generals are dead," Kassem admitted, not daring to raise his eyes. "And over four thousand troops. A devastating blow to our strength, my Sultan."
The Sultan clenched his jaw. His victory was no victory—it was a hemorrhage. He turned without a word and marched toward the prison block in the city square, where GreenWolf was bound in chains.
The Interrogation
Inside the cold stone chamber, GreenWolf sat bloodied but unbroken, arms shackled to the wall. His eyes were sharp, defiant. The Sultan stood before him, eyes filled with fury and frustration.
"You led the defense," the Sultan began, voice cold. "You commanded the fallback. You know where the others went. Tell me their next move. Tell me what they're planning."
GreenWolf remained silent.
The Sultan stepped closer. "You think silence will save you? I'll flay your flesh, general. I'll make you beg before I end you."
Still, GreenWolf said nothing.
The Sultan drew his curved scimitar, placing the blade against GreenWolf's neck. "Last chance. Speak."
GreenWolf smirked. "Do what you must."
But then…
A ripple of darkness filled the chamber.
Shadows curled at the edges of the torches. A gust of unnatural wind extinguished the flames.
Andrew appeared—cloaked in an aura darker than night, his eyes glowing faintly with a violet hue. Standing tall behind him was Mihai, silent and unmoving.
The Sultan instinctively stepped back.
"Put that blade down," Andrew said with a casual tone, yet laced with menace. " Leave him go or I'll carve you in half before your next breath."
The Sultan hesitated… then sheathed the sword, swallowing his fear.
"Why protect this man?" he demanded. "He's your enemy."
Andrew smiled faintly. "No. He's mine. And you, Sultan, are severely underestimating your place in this war."
"I have the city. I hold your enemies in chains," the Sultan hissed.
Andrew stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You've lost nearly half your army. Your best generals are rotting in the streets. And your camp?" He gestured to the east with a nod.
"I paid it a visit."
Confusion flickered in the Sultan's face. Then horror.
"Your elite one thousand… now ashes," Andrew said, calmly. "Their souls stripped clean and converted. Behold—my 23rd Battalion now marches beneath my banner."
The Sultan dropped to one knee. "No… that's not possible."
Andrew's voice grew colder. "You slaughtered my sister's defenders—those two hundred innocents you executed after your shallow victory. So I've decided you've served your purpose. You may live… for now. But you will never touch my family again."
The Sultan motioned for the guards to release GreenWolf. "Spare me, Lord of Shadows."
Andrew ignored him. He placed a hand on GreenWolf's shoulder.
"Come," he said. "You've proven yourself enough."
The Transformation
In a swirl of shadows, the two vanished from the cell and reappeared at the dark citadel of Ashren, now renamed the Throne of the Shadowlands. Black towers loomed under a blood-red sky, the capital of Andrew's new empire.
GreenWolf stood still as Andrew turned toward him, shadows swirling in his palm.
"You've fought long enough," Andrew said. "Now fight for something that cannot be destroyed. Join me. Become the commander of all shadow battalions. You've earned that right."
GreenWolf lowered his head. "As you command, my lord."
Andrew's shadow aura engulfed him, and for a moment, GreenWolf screamed—not from pain, but from transformation. His body shifted, eyes now glowing with a dim blue hue, armor forming from the darkness around him.
General GreenWolf, Supreme Commander of the Shadow Battalions, was born.
From this moment forward, his loyalty belonged to Andrew.
And the world? It had just lost another of its greatest defenders…