The forest outside Thornveil had become a battlefield.
Ancient trees groaned beneath the weight of war.
Branches snapped.
Magic exploded.
Steel rang against steel.
And at the center of it all stood Nyxian.
She hovered several feet above the ground, red hair whipping around her like living flame.
Her wings spread wide.
Her crimson eyes glowed.
And in each hand she held a length of Lilith's Kiss.
The weapon had split into two.
Twin black whips lined with dragon-scale segments and glowing red runes.
They moved like living serpents.
No.
Like extensions of Nyxian herself.
A human soldier lunged.
The whip lashed.
His sword arm separated from his body before he even realized he had been struck.
Another soldier charged from the side.
The second whip wrapped around his ankle, yanked him into the air, and flung him screaming into a tree hard enough to break both.
Three more advanced.
Nyxian smiled.
"You're adorable."
Both whips struck.
When they recoiled, the men were no longer standing.
Some were dismembered.
Others collapsed clutching blackened wounds as the venom infused into Lilith's Kiss spread through their bodies.
Around her, soldiers whispered in terror.
"The Succubus Witch."
"Don't get close to her!"
"Those whips are alive!"
Nyxian grinned wider.
Good.
Let them fear her.
On her shoulder sat Pixelle.
Three inches tall.
Hands on her hips.
Radiating royal indignation.
"Left flank!" Pixelle shouted.
Nyxian spun.
A squad of human soldiers burst through the underbrush.
Pixelle rose into the air, wings beating furiously.
Golden dust poured from her hands.
The nearby roots erupted from the ground.
Thick vines wrapped around legs and torsos.
Trees bent unnaturally, sweeping enemy soldiers off their feet.
Branches tightened like constricting snakes.
The trapped men screamed.
Nyxian's whips did the rest.
Pixelle folded her arms smugly.
"I'd like to remind everyone that this is a team effort."
Then came the thunder.
The ground shook as the Grimsteeds charged.
Grim and Steed hit the enemy line like battering rams.
Shield walls shattered.
Soldiers were launched through the air.
Armor crumpled like paper.
The shadow bulls lowered their horns and carved a path through the Imperial ranks.
Nothing in front of them remained standing.
Behind them floated Flower.
The enormous, beautiful, terrifying floral shadow.
Petals unfurled.
Pollen drifted across the battlefield like glittering mist.
To United Kingdom troops, the spores were a blessing.
Minor wounds sealed.
Burning lungs eased.
Fatigue softened.
A Fairy archer gasped as her trembling arms steadied.
A Wolfkin soldier with a deep cut watched it knit closed.
"By the gods," he whispered.
But to the Empire…
Flower's gift was something else entirely.
Fear.
Suspicion.
Paranoia.
The spores slipped into their minds and watered every hidden insecurity.
A captain glanced at the general beside him.
Why is he holding reserves back?
Does he want me to fail?
An officer watched another unit withdraw slightly to reorganize.
They're abandoning us.
They're sacrificing us.
Two sergeants began shouting.
One accused the other of withholding reinforcements.
The second drew his sword.
Within minutes, men were turning on each other.
Not entire armies.
But enough.
A thousand soldiers wasted precious time in arguments, fistfights, and even deadly skirmishes with their own allies.
The cohesion of the Imperial force began to crack.
At the center of the battlefield, Leon Vandermane watched in stunned admiration.
He stood nearly seven feet tall, golden mane stained with blood and dirt.
His claws dripped crimson.
Yet even he had paused to stare at Nyxian.
The woman who had arrived terrified and uncertain now looked like a goddess of destruction.
Leon roared.
"Push forward!"
The combined forces surged.
Wolfkin darted through the underbrush.
Elven archers rained death from the trees.
Fairies amplified strength and speed.
Demonfolk mages hurled curses and fire.
The United Kingdoms fought as one.
And the Empire, for the second time that day, began to break.
Nyxian descended to the front line.
Her boots touched the earth.
Flower's glowing pollen drifted around her like a supernatural aura.
Pixelle landed once more on her shoulder.
Echo coiled around her neck like a protective scarf.
Nyxian cracked both whips.
The sound echoed like thunder.
"Move," she said softly.
The enemy soldiers nearest her took a full step backward.
One dropped his weapon.
Another turned and ran.
Pixelle leaned toward her ear.
"I think they may be intimidated."
Nyxian smirked.
"You think?"
By sunset, the Imperial commanders were screaming at one another.
One general slammed his fist onto a map table.
"The forest itself is attacking us!"
Another shouted back.
"Your infantry collapsed!"
"My infantry was abandoned by your support!"
"You failed to reinforce my flank!"
"You sent us into a trap!"
The accusations escalated.
Hands moved to weapons.
Only the arrival of senior officers prevented the argument from becoming a bloodbath.
But the damage was done.
Their forces were battered.
Morale shaken.
Trust eroded.
And still, the defenders held.
The decision was made.
Abort the offensive.
Redirect to the primary objective.
Solmere.
When the order spread, a cheer erupted through the United Kingdom ranks.
They had done it.
They had not destroyed the Empire.
They had not needed to.
They had forced them to retreat.
Forced them to follow Jax's design.
Nyxian stood atop a broken siege wagon and watched the enemy banners turn away.
Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
She was splattered with blood.
Her hair was wild.
Her wings trembled with exhaustion.
Pixelle sat proudly on her shoulder.
Flower floated behind her.
The Grimsteeds pawed the earth.
For one quiet moment, Nyxian closed her eyes.
Jax had trusted her.
Even when she had doubted herself.
Even when she had been terrified.
And she had done it.
Pixelle patted her cheek.
"Told you we'd be fine."
Nyxian laughed.
A tired, emotional sound.
"Remind me to kiss my husband until he can't walk."
Pixelle grinned.
"That sounds like a reward for both of you."
Nyxian looked south.
Toward Solmere.
Toward Jax.
Toward the battlefield where everything would soon be decided.
Her crimson eyes hardened.
"Drive them home."
Behind her, twenty thousand soldiers of the United Kingdoms roared as one.
And the Empire marched exactly where Jax Darquebane wanted them to go.